-  H  BftRTS  • 
CONTENDING 


GBORG  SGHOGK 


HEARTS 
CONTENDING 


A  NOVEL 


BY 

GEORG    SCHOCK 


FRONTISPIECE    BY 

DENMAN  FINK 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

MCMX 


Copyright,  1910,  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS 

All  rights  reserved 


Published  April,  1910 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  A» 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  COMING  HOME i 

II.  SAUL  GIVES  LESSONS 14 

III.  A  DAY  OF  DOUBT  FOR  JONATHAN 30 

IV.  JONATHAN  ANNOUNCES  A  DECISION   .....  42 

V.  SAUL  AND  THE  FORCES  OF  NATURE 67 

VI.  ESTHER  GOES  HER  WAY 81 

VII.  SEVERAL  OPINIONS 94 

VIII.  Two  VERNAL  PHILOSOPHERS 102 

IX.  ANTONY  LIES  AWAKE 114 

X.  ANTONY  REAPS  THE  WHEAT 127 

XI.  HOUSES  OF  CLAY 150 

XII.  THE  OWNER  SITS  UNDER  THE  APPLE-TREE    .     .  171 

XIII.  PAYMENT  BEGINS 186 

XIV.  THE  SECOND  INSTALMENT 194 

XV.  ESTHER'S  PRIVATE  ACCOUNT 216 

XVI.  THE  LARGEST  ITEM 230 

XVII.  MORNING 247 

XVIII.  MORTAL  POWERS 254 


2138055 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 


HEARTS   CONTENDING 


COMING   HOME 

THOUGH  she  was  so  contented,  the  afternoon  passed 
slowly  for  Susanna  Heilig.  The  house  was  still: 
nobody  walking  through  the  hall,  nobody  in  the  parlor, 
nobody  up-stairs.  They  had  all  gone  in  different  direc- 
tions, and  she  looked  out  and  wished  them  back  again. 
She  could  not  see  far:  through  the  east  window  the  mill, 
where  her  son  Jesse  presided;  through  the  south  window 
a  few  yards  of  the  road  by  which  the  others  would  return; 
no  more,  for  the  February  mist  shut  her  in. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  she  had  made  a  tour  of  the  house, 
as  she  did  every  day  of  her  life,  the  inspection  of  the  com- 
modious domain  gave  her  such  a  pleasant  sense  of  mistress- 
ship.  In  the  large  upper  rooms,  now  full  of  light  reflected 
from  snow,  stood  chest  after  chest  of  bedding,  beloved  by 
her:  home-made  quilts,  home-spun  sheets,  home-woven 
coverlets  of  various  colors,  the  work  of  ancestresses  skilful 
as  Penelope.  So  many  movements  of  patient  fingers,  ac- 
companied by  thoughts  that  were  sometimes  fiery,  had 
gone  to  their  making  that  they  were  like  paragraphs  of 
family  history  materialized.  Susanna  could  have  found 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

any  one  of  them  in  the  dark.  The  parlor  also,  papered 
with  a  pattern  of  irises  whose  own  bulbs  would  not  have 
known  them,  and  furnished  on  a  scale  of  dignified  reck- 
lessness, was  exactly  as  she  wanted  it;  but  it  was  of  the 
kitchen  that  she  could  say,  "Here  I  am  happiest."  When 
she  came  to  die  she  would  think  of  leaving  life  as  leaving 
the  kitchen.  The  stove,  which  could  accommodate  a 
harvest-time  dinner,  and  the  table,  capable  of  indefinite 
enlargement,  gave  invitations.  On  the  window-sills  gera- 
niums and  begonias  industriously  bloomed.  The  grand- 
father's clock  had  come  from  her  family.  Before  her  eyes 
had  lost  their  vague,  infant  blueness  she  had  stared  at  the 
flowers  inlaid  on  the  mahogany  case,  and  she  had  started 
for  school  by  its  advice,  so  that  to  her  its  stroke  had  a 
paternal  sound.  Among  the  contents  of  the  dresser  the 
place  of  honor  was  held  by  a  pewter  beer-mug  marked 
"J.  H.  1735,"  which  had  accompanied  the  immigrant 
Johann  Heilig  on  his  journey  from  a  Rhenish  village  to 
Philadelphia.  When  Susanna  regarded  the  clock  with  a 
possessive  air,  her  husband's  eye  reverted  to  the  mug. 
This  inscription  had  perhaps  inspired  the  other,  "J.  H. 
1867,"  cut  on  a  corner  of  the  wood-chest,  laboriously,  by 
Jesse,  on  the  occasion  of  his  remaining  alone  at  home  on 
a  Sunday  morning.  That  inscribed  corner  was  now  a 
favorite  seat  of  his. 

At  present  Susanna's  sewing-tools  occupied  it.  She  was 
at  her  quilting-frame,  quilting  arabesques  on  a  petticoat  and 
listening  for  sleigh-bells;  and  she  listened  so  eagerly  that 
she  thought  she  heard  them,  and  made  haste  to  see.  Im- 
mediately the  room  was  filled  with  out-door  sounds  of 
dripping  and  trickling;  the  wet,  white  fog  drew  in,  and  she 
came  back,  saying  aloud:  "Why  should  I  feel  like  this 

2 


COMING    HOME 

because   they  are   not  here  ?     There   is  nothing  to  hurt 
them." 

However,  she  put  away  the  quilting  and  consulted  the 
clock.  Her  movements  covered  no  extra  inch  of  space,  the 
large  gold  hoops  in  her  ears  scarcely  swung,  and  her  pose 
before  the  mild  timepiece  would  have  befitted  a  priestess 
contemplating  the  sacrificial  mystery  which  she  was  about 
to  interpret.  She  looked  like  a  mother  of  sons.  Inspecting 
the  beloved  possession,  she  planned  to  try  a  new  way  of 
polishing  it;  she  admired  the  face;  she  even  opened  the  case, 
and  looked  at  the  weights  and  the  pendulum.  Then  a 
foreign  body  caught  her  eye,  and  she  pulled  out  a  pack  of 
cards.  Her  laugh  sounded  very  spontaneous  amid  the  un- 
intermittent  dripping  and  ticking.  "Now  that  must  have 
been  Job  himself  who  hid  them  in  my  clock,"  she  said,  as 
she  disposed  of  the  cards  in  the  stove.  "The  children 
would  not  hide  them  where  I  should  be  sure  to  look." 

This  was  a  persistent  contest  in  the  family.  Jesse  had 
come  back  from  school  an  enthusiastic  euchre-player;  he 
had  taught  his  brother  and  sister;  their  father  had  been  in- 
volved, and  had  developed  a  talent — all  under  the  unlan- 
guishing  opposition  of  Susanna.  They  knew  that  she  would 
burn  every  card  she  found,  she  knew  that  they  would  always 
produce  new  ones,  and  both  parties  applied  their  wits  to 
the  subject  of  hiding-places,  so  that  it  became  a  rivalry. 
She  was  still  laughing,  in  solitary  triumph,  when  a  noise, 
not  of  bells  but  of  trampling  feet,  hurried  her  to  the  window. 

Outside  the  white  air  blended  with  the  snow;  the  trees 
which  surrounded  the  house  looked  like  shadowy  paintings 
on  porcelain.  The  trampling  and  splashing  continued, 
and  from  the  white  emerged  a  splendid  group.  Antony, 
Susanna's  eldest  son,  was  returning  from  the  blacksmith's 

3 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

shop.  He  rode,  without  a  saddle,  a  horse  white  as  the  mist, 
and  led  by  a  rope  a  pair  of  gray  roans.  All  three  were 
tossing  their  heads  until  the  manes  streamed.  The  rope 
held  the  restless  heads  together;  the  steaming  bodies  curved 
apart;  the  hoofs  splashed  in  the  slush.  Antony,  managing 
them  easily  with  one  wrist,  went  straight  by,  into  the  fog. 
Only  Susanna's  husband  was  a  dearer  sight  to  her. 

When  he  was  gone  she  proceeded,  with  a  proud  step,  to 
start  the  fire;  that  was  what  she  could  do  for  him  at  that 
moment.  Then  she  got  her  Bible  and  sat  by  the  window, 
to  make  a  grateful  use  of  what  little  light  remained.  She 
always  read  where  the  book  opened,  and  tried  to  apply  what 
she  read,  and  she  did  so  now,  although  the  most  boastful 
of  the  Psalms  would  have  suited  her  feelings  better  than 
what  presented  itself. 

"  *  There  was  a  man  in  the  land  of  Uz,  whose  name  was 
Job;  and  that  man  was  perfect  and  upright,  and  one  that 
feared  God,  and  eschewed  evil.' 

"He  was  like  my  husband  Job. 

" '  And  there  were  born  unto  him  seven  sons  and  three 
daughters.' 

"Antony,  Jonathan,  Esther,  Jesse. 

"  *  His  substance  also  was  seven  thousand  sheep,  and 
three  thousand  camels,  and  five  hundred  yoke  of  oxen,  and 
five  hundred  she-asses,  and  a  very  great  household.' ' 

Her  father  had  kept  sheep,  so  it  was  easy  for  her  to 
imagine  the  land  of  Uz  as  a  country  where  they  would 
thrive — green,  hilly,  and  well-watered,  "like  this  Heilig- 
thal." 

"  '  So  that  this  man  was  the  greatest  of  all  the  men  of  the 
East.' 

"My  husband  Job  owns  the  land  from  the  Himmelberg 

4 


COMING    HOME 

to  the  Blaueberg,  far  up  into  the  timber-land.  When  I  look 
out  on  a  clear  day  I  cannot  see  beyond  his  land;  all  the  high 
ground  which  encloses  me  is  his.  The  mill  is  his  also,  and 
the  finest  of  stock,  and  money  upon  money  thereto.  Every- 
where he  is  looked  to:  in  the  church  and  out  of  it,  all  wait  for 
his  opinion.  There  is  no  one  in  this  county  nor  in  the  four 
counties  around  it  like  my  man. 

"  With  all  this  melting  snow,  it  will  be  bad  driving  over  the 
Blaueberg.  I  wish  that  he  were  safely  here." 

There  came  a  real  sound  of  sleigh-bells,  and  without 
a  thought  for  the  troubles  of  the  other  Job,  she  laid  the 
Bible  down;  but  it  was  not  her  husband.  A  cutter  in  which 
a  young  woman  was  driving  a  young  man  splashed  past 
the  window,  and  while  the  lamp  was  being  lighted  a  draught 
of  wet  air  announced  the  only  daughter,  of  whom  Susanna 
regretted  that  she  was  not  more  like  herself.  The  square, 
plain,  kind-looking  girl  must  attract  by  her  ways,  for  Nature 
had  been  economical  with  her.  She  inquired  for  her  father 
the  first  moment,  while  she  spread  her  bundles  on  the  table. 

"I  brought  everything,"  she  continued.  "Here  are  the 
cinnamon  and  nutmegs.  Saul  has  the  sugar.  Here  is  the 
coffee.  Here  is  your  dress.  It  is  not  so  pretty  by  lamp- 
light, but  by  day  it  is  the  prettiest  color  I  ever  saw.  Mother, 
you  will  look  splendid!" 

"This  is  good  cloth,  and  a  good  purple.  You  show 
judgment  in  your  buying,  Esther." 

A  revolutionary  fashion,  such  as  requires  retraining  of 
the  feminine  eye,  had  lately  penetrated  to  the  Heiligthal, 
and  now  occasioned  serious  talk  and  some  experimental 
draping  of  the  beautiful  stuff.  Both  women  wore  the  ex- 
pression of  laboring  geometricians  when  many  heavy  boots 
reached  the  porch,  and  more  wet  air  sharpened  the  kitchen 

5 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

perfume  of  spices  and  apples.     The  young  men  who  followed 
the  blast  explained  Susanna's  pride. 

Antony,  coming  in  first,  made  no  salutation  in  words,  and 
showed  appreciation  of  the  presence  of  his  mother  and  sister 
only  by  a  rather  pleasant  dwelling  upon  them  of  his  large 
black  eyes.  Those  sombre  eyes  were  limited  between  four 
walls;  they  should  have  swept  a  prairie  or  gazed  down  from 
a  peak.  His  body  displayed  so  perfect  a  proportion  of 
bone  and  hard  flesh  that  there  was  not  an  inch  to  wish  away. 
He  sat  as  still  as  a  bowlder,  and  no  one  spoke  to  him :  the 
family  never  made  conversation  with  Antony.  It  might 
have  been  wondered  what  he  found  to  do  to  utilize  himself; 
his  size,  and  all  that  it  implied,  might  easily  become  tor- 
menting. 

The  fair  complexion  of  the  next  young  man  showed  that 
he  was  no  son  of  Susanna.  Saul  Gantner,  the  Heiligs' 
first  cousin,  lived  with  them  and  taught  the  country  school. 
He  carried  a  pile  of  books,  whose  very  covers  suggestedyoung 
children  coerced  and  disciplined,  and  a  large  bundle  of 
sugar,  which  he  delivered  to  his  aunt  with  a  little  pleasant 
ceremony.  Esther  assured  herself  by  a  glance  that  he  was 
comfortable,  and  his  friendly  face,  which  was  raw  from  the 
cold,  regained  its  natural  color  when  he  had  enjoyed  the 
warmth  for  a  while.  This  patient  enjoyment  was  piteous, 
for  Saul  looked  like  a  man  harassed  by  needs  proper  to 
him  which  he  could  not  satisfy  and  must  therefore  hide. 

Jesse  did  not  sit;  he  went  to  the  table,  smelled  the  spices, 
felt  the  cloth,  and  inquired  concerning  an  unopened  package. 
"What's  this?" 

"Oranges,"  answered  Esther,  with  a  glance  requesting 
the  approval  of  her  mother  for  this  unauthorized  luxury. 
"Father  likes  them." 

6 


COMING    HOME 

Jesse  took  one.     "And  what's  this  ?" 

"Sour-balls  for  all  of  us.  Do  you  remember,  when  we 
were  little,  mother  always  brought  sour-balls  when  she  went 
to  the  store  on  Saturday  ?" 

Jesse  leaned  against  a  corner  of  the  chest  and  began  to 
toss  and  catch  his  orange,  and  the  lamp  threw  a  strong  beam 
across  him,  exhibiting  the  little  veils  of  flour  on  his  shoulders. 
He  was  taller  than  Antony,  and  looser  in  the  joints;  his  eyes 
were  mobile  and  a  little  moist.  A  few  changes,  and  he 
would  have  resembled  Antony;  a  few  other  changes,  and  he 
would  have  resembled  a  very  different  man.  There  were 
signs  upon  his  face  of  follies  and  of  regrets  for  them.  Life 
was  full  of  interest  to  Jesse,  who  won  love  easily. 

"What's  new?"  asked  Saul. 

"I  know  nothing  new.  I  was  in  the  mill  all  day,  grinding 
and  grinding."  By  his  inflection  Jesse  not  only  reproduced 
the  monotony  of  his  task,  but  also  derided  the  human  lot 
in  its  entirety. 

"That's  new — for  you  to  know  nothing  new." 

"I  saw  no  one  but  yourself,  coming  home  in  the  cutter 
with  Esther." 

The  remark  could  not  have  been  more  innocent  if  it 
had  been  a  bleat,  but  it  was  made  significant  by  a  turn  of 
the  mobile  eye.  Saul  replied,  deliberately:  "Yes.  She 
passed  the  school-house,  and  stopped  for  me." 

"That  was  considerate  on  her  part.  You  must  have  been 
glad  to  see  her." 

"I  was  glad  to  see  her." 

Esther,  who  had  been  momentarily  out  of  the  room,  now 
reappeared,  carrying  a  piled  egg-basket,  which  looked 
ready  to  be  emblazoned  neatly  on  the  arms  of  a  poultry- 
merchant.  She  showed  a  care-free  face  above  it.  "I  saw 
2  7 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

such  pretty  valentines  at  the  store,"  she  said,  happily — 
"big  lace  ones,  and  satin  ones  with  fringe,  and  one  had 
flowers  hand-painted!" 

"Ah!"  said  Jesse,  with  another  cock  of  his  eye  at  Saul. 
"If  a  man  wants  a  girl  and  has  not  courage  to  ask  her,  how 
appropriate  a  valentine  is  ?  And  if  he  only  wants  to  love 
her  a  little,  what  could  be  better  than  a  valentine  ?  So  safe! 
He  can  always  say  that  it  had  a  convenient  meaning,  no 
less  and  no  more.  The  valentine  manufacturers  must  have 
sympathy  for  such  fellows.  Perhaps  it  is  they  who  go  into 
the  business." 

"Are  there,  then,  such  men  ?" 

Every  one  in  the  room  looked  around  at  Saul.  Jesse 
leaned  forward. 

"Once  a  man  knows  that  he  loves  a  woman,  he  will  use 
the  poorest  of  his  own  poor  words  rather  than  such  a  foolish 
printed  verse  written  by  the  dozen  for  money.  And  as  for 
the  man  who  wants  his  woman,  as  you  say — to  love  her  a 
little  only — that  is  no  man  at  all." 

As  Saul's  German  was  modified  by  his  knowledge  of 
English  and  Latin,  anything  that  he  said  had  a  distinctive 
quality;  and  these  sentences  appeared  to  emanate  from  an 
engrossing  course  of  thought,  which  he  continued,  resting 
his  hands  on  his  knees  and  looking  gravely  at  the  floor. 
Jesse  watched  like  a  scientist  gratified  by  a  new  specimen 
acting  in  the  anticipated  manner;  and  Esther,  bewildered 
by  having  precipitated  so  much,  said,  timorously: 

"They  were  pretty  valentines,  Saul." 

"Mother  knows  more  than  any  of  us  about  valentines," 
said  Jesse.  "  I  believe,  if  the  truth  were  known,  mother  has 
valentines  now,  put  away  in  her  box.  And  axe  they  all  from 
father?" 

8 


COMING    HOME 

"Your  father  sent  me  a  handsome  one  the  week  after 
he  first  saw  me."  Susanna  was  enlivened  by  flattering  rec- 
ollections. "It  was  verses,  written  in  a  beautiful  fancy 
hand  on  a  sheet  with  a  lace  edge  and  a  rosebud  in 
the  corner,  and  at  the  bottom  he  drew  two  birds  with 
feathery  tails  sitting  on  a  heart — Now,  Esther,  set  the 
table." 

Her  mother  dropped  so  abruptly  from  very  cheerful  to 
very  low  that  Esther  was  startled.  She  objected.  "Father 
is  not  yet  here." 

"For  that  reason  I  want  the  boys  to  eat,  and  if  he  does  not 
come,  to  look  for  him.  I  am  not  easy  about  him.  All 
the  afternoon  I  have  not  been  easy.  I  feel  as  if  he  had 
met  danger  on  the  mountain.  Perhaps  he  had  trouble 
with  the  horses.  He  drove  the  colt." 

Antony  spoke  for  the  first  time.  "He  drove  the  bay 
mare  with  the  colt;  and  the  colt  is  as  steady  as  a  fence- 
post,  and  father  is  the  best  driver  who  comes  over  the 
Blaueberg." 

No  one  being  able  to  add  anything  decisive,  nothing 
more  was  said.  Susanna  was  soon  more  sibylline  than 
ever,  with  her  pan  of  hot  fat  bubbling  and  steaming  as  if 
to  create  the  traditional  atmosphere  for  ambiguous  proph- 
ecy. Job's  sleigh-bells  were  quite  near  before  she  heard 
them. 

It  was  unusual  for  him  to  stop  at  the  house  instead  of 
driving  on  to  the  barn;  his  expression  also  was  unusual. 
He  and  Susanna  saluted  each  other  from  opposite  sides  of 
the  room,  more  like  friendly  sovereigns  meeting  than  a 
husband  and  wife  of  nearly  thirty  years. 

"Saul,  put  away  my  horses,"  he  ordered.  "Antony, 
hitch  in  the  light  buggy  a  horse  that  has  not  been  out  to- 

9 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

day,  and  saddle  your  black.  Jesse  and  Esther,  eat  your 
supper.  Lose  no  time." 

"Job,  what  has  happened?" 

"Nothing  that  touches  us." 

"For  hours  I  have  had  it  on  my  mind  that  you  had  met 
danger  on  the  Blaueberg.  Now  you  return,  very  late,  look- 
ing unlike  yourself.  Why  is  it  ?"  his  wife  inquired. 

"Lieb  is  dead." 

"Lieb!  on  the  mountain!"  Susanna  was  so  relieved 
that  she  could  be  irritated.  "Why  should  that  make  you 
late,  and  make  you  solemn,  and  send  the  boys  hurrying 
in  every  direction  ?" 

"I  shall  explain.  Esther  and  Jesse,  eat  while  you  lis- 
ten. Lieb's  house,  as  you  know,  is  the  only  one  between 
us  and  the  mountain-top,  on  that  lonely  road.  This  after- 
noon I  could  not  see  it  at  all;  it  stands  back,  and  the  mist 
was  thick;  I  hardly  knew  when  I  passed  it.  All  the  way 
down  I  did  not  meet  a  soul,  and  I  did  not  expect  to  meet 
any  one;  so  I  was  surprised  to  see  near  the  foot  of  the 
mountain  a  girl  walking  alone  in  all  the  slush  and  fog.  It 
was  Bertha  Lieb." 

"His  daughter?" 

"Yes.  It  was  plain  that  she  was  glad  to  see  some  one; 
but  there  was  more  than  that  in  her  eyes,  so  I  asked  her 
what  was  wrong,  and  she  said,  'Father  just  died.'  I 
made  her  get  up  beside  me,  and  questioned  her  further; 
and  it  seems  that  they  were  sitting  by  the  stove,  and  she 
was  sewing,  and  she  said  something  and  got  no  answer, 
and  he  was  dead." 

"Poor  girl!  Poor  thing!"  said  Esther;  and  Jesse  added, 
"I  saw  her  once." 

"I  thought  she  might  be  mistaken,  and  I  said  that  we 

10 


COMING    HOME 

must  go  back.  She  did  not  agree  immediately;  she  was 
on  her  way  to  the  undertaker;  but  I  told  her  that  every- 
thing should  be  done.  The  house  is  nothing  but  a  board 
hut  in  the  woods;  it  made  me  think  of  an  old  wet  bird's- 
nest.  I  saw  her  begin  to  shiver  when  we  went  in.  There 
he  sat  in  his  chair,  and  he  looked  peaceful." 

"Is  she  alone  there  with  him  ?"  asked  Susanna. 

"Yes.  Now,  Antony  can  attend  to  what  is  necessary, 
and  Esther  and  Jesse  can  take  the  buggy  and  drive  up 
there.  Send  provisions  for  a  day  or  two.  The  house 
looked  very,  very  poor." 

The  family  scattered.  Saul  and  Antony,  who  had  stood 
listening,  departed;  Susanna  prepared  bountifully,  liking 
the  sense  of  largesse.  There  was  an  interval  of  quick  walk- 
ing in  and  out,  and  the  opening  and  shutting  of  doors; 
lanterns  moved  outside,  and  feet  of  men  and  horses  tramp- 
ed— a  neighborly  response  to  the  solemn  emergency,  such 
as  greets  Death  in  the  country,  where  there  is  more  room 
for  him.  Presently  Antony's  black  went  loping  through 
the  slush,  and  Esther  and  Jesse  drove  away  with  lighted 
carriage-lamps  and  sitting  awkwardly  among  baskets.  Saul 
stayed  at  the  barn  to  do  the  evening  work.  Only  Job  and 
Susanna  remained  in  the  depopulated  kitchen. 

Inviting  him  by  a  gesture  to  sit  and  eat,  she  silently 
supplied  his  wants  with  a  proud  diligence.  "This  is  the 
king  of  all  my  world,"  her  air  implied.  "To  serve  him 
honors  and  delights  me."  Job  justified  such  homage.  He 
was  a  mighty  man.  His  beaver  collar  and  knee-boots  became 
him;  his  beaver  cap  was  forgotten  on  his  head;  his  short 
whip  lay  forgotten  across  his  knees;  and  his  attitude  was 
temporary,  as  if  he  were  ready  to  be  up  and  off  again. 

"Eat  more,"  she  urged. 

II 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

"I  want  no  more." 

He  pushed  back  his  chair,  and  sat  thinking;  and  she 
went  about  her  work,  expressing  the  posture  of  her  mind 
by  an  occasional  ancillary  glance.  She  had  accomplished 
much  before  he  spoke. 

"Susanna,  that  was  a  sad  sight." 

"Lieb?" 

"The  girl.  It  was  strange  to  see  a  young  thing  so 
quiet." 

"You  had  seen  her  before?" 

"Once.  Lieb  was  no  sad  sight  to  me,  because  I  believe 
that  he  was  glad  to  go.  I  used  to  meet  him  often  when  I 
went  over  the  mountain,  and  sometimes  we  talked,  and 
once  it  happened  that  he  told  me  about  himself.  He  was 
for  years  a  school-teacher  in  Schuylkill  County.  He  had 
a  wife  and  four  children,  and  three  of  them  and  the  wife 
he  lost  close  together.  Then  about  eight  months  ago  he 
went  up  there  with  this  girl.  They  had  a  garden  and  a 
cow,  and  I  suppose  that  they  just  managed  to  live." 

"And  now  what  becomes  of  her?" 

"She  has  no  place;  they  have  no  near  relatives.  I  think 
that  we  should  do  well  to  take  her  in.  She  knows  how  to 
work,  I  could  see  that  from  her  well-kept  house,  and  I  do 
not  like  it  that  you  and  Esther  have  help  only  for  haying 
and  harvesting." 

He  waited  for  an  answer,  feeling  the  opposition  in  his 
wife's  mind  as  it  formed. 

"Well?" 

"We  do  not  know  what  this  Bertha  is;  but  if  she  comes, 
we  shall  think  that  we  must  keep  her.  It  is  not  as  if  she 
had  a  home  to  go  to  if  we  turn  her  out." 

"If  you  are  against  it,  I  say  no  more." 

12 


COMING    HOME 

However,  he  looked  at  her  as  if  he  expected  her  to  be- 
have generously. 

"It  is  strange  that  they  lived  there  for  eight  months 
and  I  never  saw  her.  Is  she  a  pretty  girl  ?" 

"She  is  strong  and  healthy.  That  you  have  never  seen 
her  is  in  her  favor.  She  kept  close  at  home,  and  if  there 
was  buying  to  be  done,  her  father  went." 

He  still  waited  for  her  to  be  generous;  but  she  hesi- 
tated, and  he  turned  away  and  sat  looking  thoughtfully 
before  him  and  stroking  his  short  white  beard.  She  was 
glad  for  the  transfer  of  his  attention. 

"Susanna,"  he  said,  after  a  while,  "when  I  left  poor 
Lieb,  who  had  lived  so  hard,  and  died  and  left  his  daughter 
to  the  world,  and  when  I  drove  down  the  mountain  into 
this  Thai  which  belongs  to  me,  I  thought  of  many  things. 
We  have  been  blessed." 

"Yes;    but  it  is  through  your  work." 

"What  could  I  have  done  alone?" 

"Would  all  this  have  come  to  us  if  you  had  done  nothing  ?" 

He  shook  his  head,  and  seemed  to  forget  her. 

The  question  between  them  became  unimportant  to  her, 
she  was  so  proud  of  him.  Her  eyes  showed  her  good  reason 
for  her  pride;  her  memory  supplied  from  the  events  of 
their  life  together  innumerable  reasons  more.  She  was 
glad  to  sacrifice  her  judgment. 

"Let  us  send  for  the  girl,  Job,"  she  said. 

She  was  standing  beside  him,  and  now  she  put  her  hand 
upon  his  shoulder  in  a  gesture  of  fealty.  Egyptian  wives 
and  husbands  had  their  likenesses  made  in  that  position; 
and  the  little,  staring  figures,  which  have  lasted  out  the 
centuries  between,  show  how  old  that  fealty  is. 


II 

SAUL   GIVES   LESSONS 

A  STRANGER  passing  through  the  Heiligthal  on  Ash 
/~\  Wednesday  would  have  thought  himself  among  ex- 
tremely devout  people.  On  that  day  every  house  was 
cleaned  from  top  to  bottom,  and  the  dust  burned;  every 
garden  was  covered  with  ashes,  which  remained  until  the 
spring  rains  washed  them  into  the  ground;  every  cow  was 
sprinkled  with  ashes,  like  a  mourner  in  the  Old  Testament, 
and  their  long,  contemplative  faces,  thus  oddly  topped, 
stared  out  of  barn  doors  and  over  barn-yard  gates.  Their 
forlorn  looks,  the  gray  surfaces  of  the  gardens,  and  the  little 
heaps  of  rubbish  burning  with  thin  flames,  like  sacrificial 
fires,  gave  the  district  a  penitential  air;  but  the  ceremony 
was  really  prophylactic.  No  worm,  no  insect,  no  tiny 
malignant  egg  was  expected  to  survive  the  ashes  of  Ash 
Wednesday;  and  when  one  did  persist,  it  was  considered 
accidental. 

Jesse,  following  Antony  to  the  barn  on  that  day,  relished 
the  antithesis.  "Twenty-four  hours  makes  a  difference. 
Yesterday  being  Shrove  Tuesday,  every  housekeeper  was 
baking  fat-cakes;  in  the  kitchens  one  could  not  make  one's 
self  heard  for  the  frying.  To-day  the  Thai  is  in  expiatory 
get-up;  and  here  we  go,  to  ash  the  cattle,  which  do  not 
desire  it." 


SAUL    GIVES    LESSONS 

No  answer  was  expected  from  Antony.  He  had  a  bucket 
of  ashes  swinging  from  each  hand,  his  heavy,  regular  step 
sounded  as  undivertible  as  the  march  of  events,  and  his 
back  looked  preoccupied;  so  Jesse  said  no  more.  Allow- 
ing his  shoulders  to  sag  under  his  own  burden  of  buckets, 
he  followed,  thinking:  "I  wonder  how  the  cows  explain 
this  to  themselves.  I  should  resent  it  if  I  were  a  cow." 

The  victims  were  standing  about  the  yard  in  the  wooden 
attitudes  peculiar  to  them,  each  with  the  deliberately  im- 
perceptive  expression  of  a  sage  under  his  own  Bo-tree, 
except  one  Jersey,  which  was  walking  round  and  round  a 
haystack  to  which  repeated  perambulations  had  given 
thatched  eaves  like  a  cottage,  at  the  height  of  a  tall  cow's 
back.  Jesse  detained  her,  sprinkled  her  copiously,  and 
enjoyed  her  lady-like  disgust  at  the  liberty.  When  every 
cow  had  been  treated  with  the  same  cosmetic,  he  observed : 
"I  wish  that  we  were  done  with  that  Holstein  bull.  He 
is  in  the  worst  of  humors  to-day." 

"He  will  make  no  trouble,"  said  Antony,  leading  the 
way  into  the  barn. 

The  Holstein  bull  was  alone  there,  stately  and  misan- 
thropical; he  objected  to  the  intrusion  upon  his  privacy. 
He  glared  over  his  shoulder  at  the  sound  of  steps,  roared 
briefly,  and  made  a  clumsy  plunge.  His  stall  was  too  nar- 
row to  permit  him  to  turn  and  charge,  but  he  tried  hard, 
and  his  chain  clanked  and  the  partition  shook. 

"Here,"  said  Antony.  Catching  one  horn,  he  slowly 
sprinkled  ashes  over  the  broad  black  back.  The  bull 
failed  to  free  his  head,  rumbled,  and  was  quiet. 

"By  my  soul,  they  look  alike,"  thought  Jesse.  "Big 
and  powerful  and  black!" — "Antony,"  he  said,  "I  believe 
that  you  are  the  strongest  man  in  the  township." 

15 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

"I  am,"  said  Antony,  without  interest. 

At  that  moment,  transformed  by  self-forgetting  admira- 
tion, Jesse  resembled  Antony  as  little  as  possible.  "There 
is  a  man  for  you!"  he  thought.  "I  should  have  said  that 
there  was  no  woman  to  match  him,  but  lately  it  seems  that 
there  is  one." 

He  was  so  much  pleased  that  he  surveyed  the  barn, 
when  he  emerged  from  it,  with  a  continuity  of  approval. 
It  deserved  respect:  the  blue  limestone  had  been  quarried 
from  the  hills  among  which  it  stood;  the  screening  willows 
were  there  by  the  foresight  of  a  pioneer;  the  red  roof  was  a 
mark  to  far-flying  pigeons  at  sunset,  and  a  flock  of  them, 
white  and  gray  like  little  February  clouds,  were  fluttering 
about  it  now,  and  saying  to  each  other :  "  Ho-ome !  Ho-ome !" 
Reading  the  date  cut  in  the  front  wall,  he  thought:  "Father 
built  it  the  year  he  married.  It  is  a  palace  for  the  cows." 

He  liked  the  fulfilment  of  an  ideal,  even  a  bovine  one; 
he  liked  to  let  the  work  wait  while  he  looked  over  the  Thai 
and  noted  the  attenuated  columns  of  smoke  rising  like  ex- 
clamation-points from  the  tenant-farms,  beside  his  father's 
house  the  accumulation  of  his  mother's  labors  burning 
vigorously,  Esther  in  the  garden,  and  the  harmony  with 
the  day  of  the  worn  snow  and  dull  sky.  He  reflected. 

"How  religious  we  appear!  Those  oblongs  covered  with 
gray,  as  if  it  had  snowed  ashes  in  regular  spots,  must  sur- 
prise the  birds  which  fly  over  us.  And  if  any  worm  works 
out  his  head  from  under  that  blanket  which  Esther  is 
putting  on  our  garden,  he  deserves  free  board.  What 
might  be  wrong  with  Esther  ?" 

There  was  a  Millet-like  sadness  about  her  as  she  went 
back  and  forth,  back  and  forth,  in  the  white  February 
afternoon,  scattering  with  a  pastoral  gesture  those  too 

16 


SAUL    GIVES    LESSONS 

symbolic  ashes  on  the  snow.  It  seemed  to  her  brother  that 
she  grew  more  dejected  as  he  watched.  Considering  her 
like  a  problem,  he  called  in  as  consultant  Antony,  who  re- 
appeared just  then. 

"See  Esther." 

"What  about  her?" 

"What  do  you  think  ails  her?" 

"I  make  out  nothing  unusual.  Did  she  tell  you  that 
something  is  wrong  ?" 

"No;  but  have  you  not  noticed  how  low-spirited  she  is 
of  late  ?  And  how  sadly  she  walks!" 

Antony  looked,  pushed  the  subject  out  of  existence  with 
a  movement  of  one  shoulder,  and  started  away;  but  Jesse, 
who  had  been  ready  since  his  babyhood  to  share  with  this 
brother,  must  now  share  an  interesting  idea. 

"Wait.     I  know  what  it  is." 

"Then  why  did  you  say  you  did  not  know?" 

"I  did  not  say  I  did  not  know;  I  said  she  did  not  tell 
me.  Two  things  could  not  be  more  different.  She  is  dis- 
tressed because  Bertha  is  here." 

"Does  she  dislike  Bertha?" 

"I  think  not;    but  who  will  notice  Esther  now?" 

"I  know  of  no  one  whom  she  could  want;  but  if  there 
were,  I  think  she  need  not  be  afraid." 

"What  about  Saul?" 

"Her  cousin!" 

"I  tell  you  she  has  reason  for  alarm.  Have  you  not 
seen  this  Bertha  ?  I  saw  her  once,  months  ago  (she  was 
walking  on  the  road  over  the  mountain),  and  do  you  think 
I  forgot  it  ?  I  cannot  say  what  it  is  about  her — she  is  not 
so  extraordinarily  handsome — but  I  believe  that  she  is  as 
strong  for  a  woman  as  you  are  for  a  man." 

'7 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

"What  do  you  want  a  woman  for?  To  handle  your 
grain-sacks  ?" 

"I  believe  that  if  she  took  the  pins  out  of  her  hair  it 
would  come  to  her  knees,  and  ripple  like  ripe  wheat  in  the 
wind;  and  it  is  just  the  wheat's  color.  Ah!" 

"You  must  be  interested  yourself,"  said  Antony,  con- 
temptuously. 

"Oh  no!  I  have  girls  enough,"  Jesse  answered;  but  as 
he  laughed  he  watched  Antony  under  his  lashes.  His  sus- 
picions fluttered  like  a  swarm  of  little  butterflies,  always 
ready  to  alight  upon  the  emotions  of  other  people;  and 
with  a  sense  of  delayed  discovery,  he  ceased  to  watch  when 
Antony  said: 

"Shall  we  play  to-night?  We  have  not  had  a  game  for 
nearly  two  weeks." 

"I  suppose  Bertha  will  go  to  bed  early,  as  father  tells 
her  to  do.  What  care  he  takes  of  her!  Then  we  might 
play,  unless  mother  has  burned  our  cards.  Father  hid 
them  the  last  time,  and  she  always  finds  them  when  he 
does  it." 

"That  makes  no  difference.     I  have  two  new  packs." 

By  producing  them  at  an  early  hour  in  the  evening, 
Antony  put  an  end  to  the  virtuous  triumph  of  his  mother 
when  the  old  ones  were  not  to  be  found  in  the  clock.  The 
company  in  the  kitchen  divided.  Saul  was  absorbed  in 
preparation  for  his  next  day's  work,  bending  over  a  pile  of 
school-books  his  long,  fresh-colored  face,  which  would 
have  made  a  good  subject  for  a  Portrait  of  a  Young  Phi- 
losopher, with  the  wainscoting  as  background.  To  the 
same  table  Susanna,  with  her  Bible  and  her  mending- 
basket,  ostentatiously  retired,  abandoning  on  the  other 
side  of  the  room  the  four  worldlings  and  their  vain  pleas- 

18 


SAUL    GIVES    LESSONS 

tires.  When  the  family  played  she  always  read  the  Bible 
as  an  antidote. 

They  were  not  cast  down  by  it;  they  had  their  own 
lamp  on  the  dresser,  where  the  satiny  side  of  J.  H.'s  mug 
made  a  benevolent  bright  spot.  Job  and  Jesse,  sitting  in 
the  track  of  the  light,  opposed  Antony  and  Esther  in  the 
shadow.  They  played  hard.  When  the  game  had  gone 
on  long  enough  to  produce  in  Susanna  a  mood  of  disap- 
probation and  misgiving  that  concerned  itself  with  "old, 
unhappy,  far-off  things,"  her  sad  voice  interrupted  a 
silence  full  of  computations. 

"Jonathan  is  so  far  away!" 

At  that  moment  Antony  had  perceived  a  chance  to 
euchre  his  pre-eminent  father;  so  it  was  good  of  him  to 
say,  "Jonathan  will  be  here  before  long."  Then  he  was 
lost  in  the  game  again;  and  Jesse  remarked,  as  if  he  were 
stating  something  extraordinary,  "Mother  can  never  be 
reconciled  to  having  him  away." 

"I  know  he  will  come  back  soon,  but  not  to  stay,"  said 
Susanna  to  Saul,  who,  not  being  a  born  member  of  the 
family,  had  more  piquancy  as  a  listener. 

Saul  politely  looked  up. 

"No  one  knows  how  a  mother  misses  her  children; 
when  the  night  comes  she  needs  them  all  around  her.  I 
wanted  him  to  be  a  preacher,  and  I  wanted  him  to  have 
what  he  wanted,  but  I  was  never  willing  to  have  him  go." 

"He  will  soon  be  ready  for  a  charge,"  suggested  Saul. 
"Perhaps  he  will  have  one  near  here,  and  will  be  able  to 
live  at  home.  And  when  we  see  him  standing  up  to  preach 
we  shall  all  be  proud  of  him.  He  will  make  a  fine-looking 
minister." 

"Saul,  you  are  a  good  diplomatist,"  Jesse  put  in.  "Mother 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

mourns  because  Jonathan  is  not  here,  and  you  do  not  say 
that  it  is  better  so,  like  most  comforters;  you  make  her 
forget  it  with  a  pleasant  idea." 

"I  cannot  forget  it,"  said  Susanna,  seriously. 

"Mother  says  that  she  cannot  forget  it.  Is  there  any- 
thing, then,  that  any  one  cannot  forget  ?" 

Saul  withdrew  to  his  book.  Job's  terminating  voice 
uttered:  "I  dislike  to  hear  any  one  say  that  he  cannot." 
Jesse  rolled  his  eyes  from  face  to  face,  and  played  a  de- 
cisive card.  Susanna  recommenced: 

"You  are  right,  Saul.  When  I  see  him  in  the  pulpit! 
He  is  no  common  man,  my  son  Jonathan.  Your  uncle 
also  has  been  so  set  on  making  him  a  preacher  that  if 
anything  happened  to  prevent  it  now,  I  believe  he  could 
not  stand  up  under  it." 

Her  nephew's  diversion  was  successful.  Now  she  was 
happy  until  the  end  of  the  game,  wandering  among  mater- 
nal anticipations  for  Jonathan,  who  profited  by  the  double 
charm  of  absence  and  achievement;  but  when  the  score 
was  under  discussion  she  implied  her  opinion  of  the  pas- 
time by  saying,  in  a  clear,  didactic  tone,  as  she  rose  and 
prepared  to  go: 

"If  Esther  would  take  a  lesson  in  English  from  Saul, 
who  is  always  willing  to  give  one,  it  would  be  a  better  use 
of  the  time." 

As  Esther  meekly  took  the  vacated  seat  under  the  lamp, 
Jesse,  with  the  acute  smile  of  intelligence  flattered  by  cor- 
roboration,  marched  off  ostentatiously  with  a  candle. 
Antony  was  laughing  with  his  father. 

"You  cannot  persuade  me  that  your  luck  is  honest.  I 
believe  that  you  have  a  witch  in  the  shape  of  a  black  cat  to 
tell  you  what  to  play,  and  of  course  you  get  the  better  of 

20 


SAUL    GIVES    LESSONS 

your  innocent  children."     He  looked  back  from  the  door- 
way, his  eyes  luminously  merry. 

"Very  well.  To-morrow  night  you  shall  have  a  chance 
to  get  the  better  of  me  and  the  witch.  Oh,  your  mother  has 
already  gone!  Saul,  do  not  keep  Esther  up  late.  Good- 
night." Job  disappeared  into  the  bedroom  next  the 
kitchen,  the  traditional  apartment  of  the  master  and 
mistress. 

The  silence  which  settled  upon  the  room  after  these 
spirited  departures  developed  the  nocturnal  quality,  in 
which  it  seemed  as  if  a  human  voice  or  movement  would 
disturb  presences  alien  to  the  day,  and  probably  malevolent. 
That  silence,  which  makes  any  companionship  unusually 
significant,  brought  Esther  no  peaceful  release  from  demands, 
for  she  was  under  an  apprehension  so  heavy  that  it  seemed 
not  to  be  within  her,  but  to  overshadow  her  corporeally. 
It  wore  her  out;  she  was  just  able  to  sit  still,  not  able  to  pro- 
tect herself,  even  by  the  simple  defence  of  moving  the  lamp 
to  Saul's  side  of  the  table;  so  she  remained  in  the  full  light, 
where  he  could  see  her  face  if  he  happened  to  wish  to 
see  it,  while  she  went  stumbling  over  linguistic  difficulties 
which  added  themselves  to  the  general  difficulties  of 
life. 

His  teaching  habit  asserted  itself  so  successfully  that  he 
did  not  show  how  much  he  also  was  aware  of  the  nocturnal 
mystery,  and  the  pity  which  he  felt  for  her  heavy  eyes  and 
the  exhausted  carriage  of  her  head  and  shoulders  was  con- 
cealed when  he  said,  "You  are  not  interested  in  this.  Per- 
haps you  do  not  care  to  learn  English." 

"I  see  no  use  in  it." 

"It  is  the  language  of  Shakespeare,"  said  he.  "That 
was  Shakespeare  that  you  were  reading." 

21 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

Reproach   and  the   necessity  for  Shakespeare  together 
were  too  much  for  Esther,  who  drooped  still  more. 
"Here  is  something  for  you  from  the  post-office." 
As  she  opened  the  envelope,  which  was  decorated  with 
a  stamped  pattern,  and  discovered  a  lace-edged  sheet  with 
a  forget-me-not  garland  and   most  ornamental  script,  her 
face  actually  freshened.     She  looked  to  him  to  read  it;  and 
he  said,  with  the  encouraging  manner  of  an  uncle:  "Con- 
tinue the  lesson  with  this.     Perhaps  it  will  go  better": 

'"To  my  Valentine: 

The  small  dark  rose  that  seldom  blooms, 

The  violet  wet  with  dew, 
The  honey  and  the  honeycomb 

Are  not  so  sweet  as  you.' 

That  is  beautiful:  'The  honey  and  the  honeycomb.'  That 
comes  out  of  the  Bible.  What  rose  do  you  think  it 
means  ?" 

"Perhaps  the  little  one,  almost  black,  that  grows  by  the 
spring-house.  Go  on." 

"The  shortest  month  of  all  the  year 

Is  all  that  I  may  claim, 
For  which  a  life  were  all  too  brief, 
The  singing  of  your  name.' 

What  does  that  mean  ?" 

"February, in  which  comes  Valentine's  Day, is  the  shortest 
month  of  the  year,  but  this  writer  would  like  to  praise  you 
all  the  time." 

"It  is  much  prettier  than  what  you  gave  me  to  read 
before : 

22 


SAUL    GIVES    LESSONS 

"'Though  I  too  poor  and  humble  be 

To  ask  you  to  be  mine, 
Let  me,  this  one  short  day,  delight 
To  be  your  valentine.' 

Don't  you  think  that  it  is  very  pretty,  Saul  ?" 

"It  is  very  poor  poetry.  See  how  he  uses  all  three  times 
in  three  lines.  That  is  very  bad." 

Esther  laid  down  the  paper,  with  sympathy  for  it  because 
it  could  not  be  admired,  and  leaned  her  chin  on  her  hand. 

When  the  pause  had  lasted  too  long,  Saul  asked,  "Can 
you  not  guess  who  sent  it  ?" 

"No." 

"Are  you  so  tired,  Esther  ?" 

"Not  very." 

"Will  you  read  the  valentine  again — for  the  practice  ?" 

"It  is  late." 

The  intimacy  of  the  single  lamp  became  more  and  more 
exigent;  something  must  be  said  in  reply  to  his  interroga- 
tive eyes.  She  did  say,  "It  is  hard  to  live,  Cousin  Saul," 
and  found  the  words  a  relief,  though  she  did  not  expect  him 
to  understand  them. 

"It  is.  Esther,  did  the  valentine  offend  you?  It  is  not 
very  nice,  but  I  thought  you  might  be  pleased  because  it  is 
like  the  one  your  father  sent  to  your  mother." 

"Did  you  send  it?  Oh!  When  you  criticised  it,  I 
thought  you  had  not!" 

"And  you  did  not  care  for  it  then  ?" 

"No,  I  did  not  care  for  it  then." 

Both  stopped  for  a  minute,  seeing  light.  To  her  it  was 
sunlight,  and  her  instantaneous  response,  in  the  form  of  a 
touching  physical  readiness,  was  clearer  than  words.  To 
3  23 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

him  the  light  was  a  destroying  flash  that  burned  away  all  his 
defences;  they  had  been  in  use  so  long  that  he  had  become 
unworthily  acquiescent  to  a  painful  lot,  but  they  were  done 
for  now. 

"Esther,  I  dare  say  nothing!"  It  was  the  adult  equiv- 
alent of  a  cry. 

Her  eyes  waited  upon  his  with  sweet  compliance,  agreeing 
to  postpone  happiness  if  he  saw  a  reason  for  doing  so.  It 
was  grievous  to  dim  that  look. 

"I  have  thought  of  you  since  I  was  a  boy  and  first  came 
here  to  live.  I  have  stayed  here  because  to  see  you  and  talk 
to  you  was  better  than  anything  that  I  could  get  cut  of  the 
world.  Now — I  must  go." 

"Saul!     You  will  go  away?" 

"Can  I  stay  here  and  say  nothing?  Can  I  see  you,  day 
in  and  day  out,  and  endure  not  to  have  you  to  myself? 
Indeed,  I  must  go  quickly." 

She  made  her  resolution  visibly.  "Rather  than  have 
you  leave  me,  I  will  say  what  does  not  become  me.  As  I 
have  been  in  your  mind,  so  you  have  been  in  mine.  I  did 
not  recognize  you  for  what  you  are  to  me  until  this  stranger 
came,  and  I  thought  that  you  must  surely  turn  to  her.  Oh, 
I  don't  know  how  I  have  gotten  through  these  last  few  days!" 

He  did  not  even  notice  the  mention  of  the  other  woman. 
"Esther,  can  you  say  that  as  I  feel  for  you,  so  you  feel  for 
me  ?" 

"Yes,  Saul.     Full  as  much,  and  full  as  long." 

After  the  first  kiss,  which  they  had  so  often  imagined, 
his  cheek  was  against  her  hair,  and  the  world  went  whirling 
on  without  them  as  they  breathed  together.  It  was  a 
moment  of  compensation,  but  a  moment  only;  it  might  not 
last,  lest  they  should  be  as  gods. 

24 


SAUL    GIVES    LESSONS 

He  was  the  first  to  feel  their  obligations,  which  she  could 
have  ignored  forever.  "Esther,"  he  said,  "I  have  done  you 
wrong." 

"No,  I  am  sure." 

Her  determination  to  snatch  at  happiness  that  she  might 
present  it  to  him  was  coercive;  he  had  to  guard  her.  He 
walked  through  the  room  with  a  drawn  lip,  and  she,  like 
other  women,  waited. 

"I  have  nothing  to  offer  you;  I  have  no  business,  no 
prospects  in  life,  no  home  but  this.  I  could  be  proud  to 
be  silent  until  I  could  say,  'Here  is  a  home  for  the  two 
of  us,  come  into  it,'  but  how  can  I  say,  'Leave  every  one 
you  love,  turn  your  back  on  your  father  and  your  father's 
house,  and  come  to  me  ?" 

"We  can  make  a  home.  Why  should  I  turn  my  back 
upon  my  father's  house  ?  I  will  give  up  neither  him  nor 
you.  I  will  wait,  and  when  you  are  ready,  here  you  shall 
find  me." 

"Do  you  forget — that  we  are  cousins?" 

"What  do  we  care?" 

For  a  sick  minute  he  wondered  at  his  own  condemna- 
tion— to  contend  simultaneously  with  circumstances  and 
himself  and  her.  "Has  any  other  man  gone  through 
this  ?"  he  thought.  "I  must  end  it,  or  she  will  make  her- 
self cheap  in  her  own  eyes." 

Esther,  left  at  the  stage  of  the  last  speech,  made  light  of 
these  flimsy  deterrents  in  the  strength  of  her  own  secure 
heart. 

He  was  unable  to  look  at  her,  and  with  difficulty  he 
said  the  words:  "I  can  do  no  more;  but  you  shall  make 
no  promises  that  you  might  regret,  my  little  dark  rose." 

She  listened  tolerantly;    and  with  a  smile  that  was  half 

25 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

motherly,  and  made  his  words  the  pessimism  of  a  child, 
she  walked  over  to  him,  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his  cheek, 
and  said:  "Dear  Saul!  Dear  Saul!" 

The  door  opened,  and  Job  surveyed  them.  From  the 
black  oblong  behind  him  they  heard  the  sleepy  breathing 
of  Susanna. 

"I  thought  that  I  would  come  to  see  why  you  kept  her 
up  so  late,"  he  said,  and  all  his  words  had  cutting  edges. 
"Esther,  leave  your  cousin  and  go  to  your  bed." 

She  made  a  movement  which  might  easily  have  become 
recusant,  but  Saul's  eyes  enforced  the  command.  Already 
they  needed  no  words  between  them,  and  she  replied  with 
a  plighting  look,  and  quietly  departed.  Her  presence  could 
not  have  given  Saul  so  much  spirit  for  the  interview  as  did 
that  look,  and  he  stood  with  dignity  through  the  silence 
which  followed. 

Job,  who  had  felt  the  need  of  much  self-control,  had  by 
this  time  attained  it  sufficiently  to  proceed.  "Now  I  am 
ready  to  hear  what  you  have  to  say.  Can  you  make  this 
appear  right  in  my  sister's  son  ?" 

It  was  incapacitating  to  have  to  plead  his  case  as  if 
its  flagrancy  were  so  open  as  to  need  no  statement;  but 
Saul  replied,  bravely:  "I  can,  uncle.  I  love  Esther  as  a 
wife." 

"That  I  believe.  I  do  not  think  so  badly  of  you  as  to 
suppose  that  you  tamper  with  her,  and  she  is  a  girl  for  any 
man  to  love." 

"And  she  looks  to  me  as  to  a  husband." 

"There  is  the  serious  matter.  I  ask  you  what  will 
come  of  it.  Shall  she,  loving  you,  go  to  another  man,  or 
shall  she  spend  her  life  alone  ?  How  is  it,  Saul  ?" 

"I  beseech  you  to  give  your  consent," 

26 


SAUL    GIVES    LESSONS 

"In  no  circumstances." 

It  was  now  a  more  even  contest  between  them,  and  Saul 
continued,  with  greater  ease: 

"Uncle,  although  I  have  thought  of  no  woman  but 
Esther,  I  had  no  hope  at  all.  I  chose  to  stay  here,  in  her 
presence,  until  she  married  another  man,  as  the  best  thing 
that  I  could  do  in  life.  Now,  within  this  hour,  I  find  that 
she  feels  much  for  me.  As  yet,  I  have  asked  her  nothing." 

"What  could  you  ask  of  her?     Have  you  money?" 

"You  know  what  was  left  me." 

"Have  you  a  home?" 

"I  will  have  one." 

"Can  you  undo  your  relationship  ?" 

"No;  but  I  want  her,  cousin  or  no  cousin;  and  all 
men  do  not  think  alike  about  that.  If  I  were  not  a  relative, 
uncle,  would  you  still  oppose  me  ?" 

The  memory  of  the  sister  to  whom  he  had  been  counsellor 
before  her  marriage  with  Saul's  father  delayed  the  answer 
and  softened  it,  as  Job  tried  to  follow  through  befogging 
emotions  the  straight  way  of  justice. 

"You  have  my  sympathy.  You  are  a  good  boy — an 
earnest,  considerate  fellow;  but  for  too  many  years  you 
have  been  contented  to  stay  here,  working  in  the  summer 
for  a  laborer's  pay,  and  in  the  winter  teaching  this  country 
school.  You  have  good  health,  you  have  an  education, 
but  you  make  no  effort  to  get  on.  You  are  like  your  father, 
who  left  you  less  than  his  inheritance.  I  could  not  feel 
satisfied  that  Esther  would  be  taken  care  of  by  a  man  who 
has  no  honest  ambition." 

Saul  listened  with  acquiescent  gravity  to  his  uncle  re- 
peating the  accusation  of  his  own  thoughts. 

"If  I  go  away  at  once,  asking  no  promise  of  her,  and 

27 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

she  is  still  here  when  I  am  able  to  prove  to  you  that  I 
can  take  care  of  her,  then  what  ?" 

"Still  you  would  be  cousins.  That  you  cannot  get  over. 
Nor  can  you  make  me  feel  confidence  enough  in  you  to 
give  her  to  you.  This  must  end  here,  Saul." 

"I  will  go—" 

"At  present  you  will  not  go!  If  you  leave  before  the 
term  is  over,  questions  will  be  asked,  and  she  may  be  talked 
of.  You  will  stay  here  until  your  school  is  closed;  then 
you  can  go  where  you  please,  and  every  one  will  hear  that 
you  have  work  elsewhere,  and  until  then  I  will  send  Esther 
away.  And  I  will  take  your  promise  to  say  no  more  to 
her,  and  I  hope  she  will  not  think  too  long  of  this.  She  is 
still  young." 

Saul  looked  as  if  he  had  been  thrust  out  into  bleak 
weather.  "You  give  me  no  chance.  I  ask  no  considera- 
tion from  you,  but  Esther  herself  should  be  consulted." 

"Do  I  need  you  to  tell  me  how  to  look  out  for  my  daugh- 
ter ?  What  have  you  already  done  for  her  ?" 

The  momentum  of  his  overt  passion  hurried  Saul  along. 
Feeling  that  that  passion  was  its  own  excuse,  he  assumed 
no  servile  attitude;  the  mere  idea  of  excusing  it  covered 
his  face  with  red  like  the  red  of  anger,  and  his  energy 
counterbalanced  Job's  calm  weight. 

"You  say  a  hard  thing.  Now  it  is  right  that  you  listen 
to  me.  I  think  that  there  is  no  man  like  you,  uncle.  I  can 
never  forget  what  you  have  done  for  me,  but  it  is  not  that, 
it  is  yourself  that  I  admire;  and  I  would  willingly  do  nothing 
to  displease  you.  As  for  the  present,  I  will  do  as  you  direct. 
I  will  say  no  more  to  Esther,  I  will  stay  until  you  leave  me 
free  to  go,  and  then  I  will  go.  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  do 
not  do  this  because  I  am  poor,  or  because  we  are  cousins; 

28 


SAUL    GIVES    LESSONS 

I  do  it  because  you  are  right  in  saying  that  I  have  not  proved 
that  I  can  take  care  of  her.  But  when  I  have  proved  it,  I 
will  come  back.  I  will  put  it  before  her,  and  as  she  decides, 
so  it  will  be." 

It  was  a  sad  moment  for  both. 

"You  have  been  among  my  sons  as  one  of  them,"  said 
Job,  "and  now  you  would  lead  away  my  daughter.  Then 
I  must  see  to  her." 

"So  it  will  be." 


Ill 


AS[  anxious  young  man  tramped  up  and  down  in  front 
of  the  organist's  house,  and  neither  went  in  at  the  door 
nor  out  at  the  gate.  When  he  heard  wheels,  which  was 
often,  for  the  congregation  of  St.  John's  was  gathering 
for  the  morning  service,  he  exhibited  mutually  exclusive 
desires :  to  know  who  was  arriving  and  not  to  be  seen  him- 
self; and  when  carriages  passed  the  house,  dignity  visibly 
arrested  the  recurrent  impulse  to  dodge  behind  the  arbor- 
vitae  trees.  His  difficulties  were  too  preoccupying  to  permit 
him  to  be  soothed  by  the  Sunday  morning  hush  upon  the 
country,  the  thin  sunshine  and  thin  shadow  through  which 
he  walked,  and  the  soft  voice  of  the  wind,  sweeping  across 
him  through  the  intermittent  protection  of  the  same  trees. 
That  wind  carried  the  sound  of  the  church-bell  miles  away 
to  the  Heiligthal,  and  the  Thai  and  the  bell  were  connected 
in  his  contending  thoughts. 

He  was  a  personable,  dark  young  man.  In  his  face  were 
possibilities  of  spiritual  distinction  of  an  ascetic  kind  which 
did  not  harmonize  with  his  conspicuous  physical  qualities; 
and  it  was  a  question  what  calling  could  exhaust  poten- 
tialities so  eager  and  so  diverse,  which  would  probably 
create  for  him  the  situation  from  which  Saint  Anthony  got 
most  credit.  For  the  present  he  had  a  theological  air,  and 

30 


A   DAY    OF    DOUBT    FOR    JONATHAN 

he  looked  worn.  Jesse  Heilig  would  have  resembled  him 
had  Jesse  developed  his  unlikeness  to  his  brother  Antony. 

When  the  Rev.  Philip  Heilig,  the  pastor  of  St.  John's, 
came  driving  up  to  the  gate,  the  young  man  presented  him- 
self with  a  countenance  in  which  perturbation  had  in- 
creased. His  appearance  caused  surprise. 

"Jonathan,  what  brings  you  here?  Has  anything 
happened  ?" 

"Nothing  has  happened  yet.  I  have  not  been  at  home. 
I  came  this  morning,  straight  here,  because  I  wanted  to  see 
you  first,  uncle.  I  can  continue  in  this  way  no  longer." 

The  minister  bent  his  head  slightly,  in  grave,  unwilling 
acquiescence,  his  eyes  thoughtfully  lowered.  "Then  I 
suppose  you  have  decided." 

"Not  altogether,"  Jonathan  admitted. 

"Not  ?     Then  why  do  you  come  to  take  a  definite  step  ?" 

"I  must  settle  it.  I  cannot  dodge  the  fact  that  I  am  not 
satisfied;  and  if  I  change,  I  cannot  change  too  soon." 

By  an  interrogative  look,  withheld  until  he  had  stepped 
out  of  the  carriage  and  through  the  gate,  the  older  man 
implied  the  inadequacy  of  this  explanation.  Jonathan  was 
not  ready  with  a  better  one,  and  it  was  plain  enough  from 
his  face  that  the  long  argument  with  himself  which  had 
already  marked  it  was  setting  in  again.  Presently  he  gave 
himself  a  liberating  shake. 

"You  said  yourself,  uncle,  in  one  of  your  letters  since  I 
began  to  hesitate,  that  this  calling  requires  the  whole  heart. 
That  I  cannot  give  it.  I  want  to  be  in  the  fields,  ploughing 
and  harvesting.  Why,  look  at  me!"  He  threw  out  his 
hand  in  an  appeal  for  justice  to  the  physical  make-up  which 
had  its  needs  and  uses. 

"Go  there,  then.  Come  back,  and  work  on  the  farm  a 

31 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

while.  I  think  you  will  soon  be  glad  that  you  have  not  done 
what  you  must  abide  by." 

"No,  uncle;  no  more  deferring.  I  am  here  to  decide. 
Feeling  as  I  do  now,  my  study  of  divinity  is  the  worst  of 
cant;  it  is  profanation.  I  will  be  sincere  in  it,  or  I  will  leave 
it  for  good." 

The  minister  smoothed  his  small,  grizzled  beard  with  a 
gesture  like  Job's,  and  asked,  after  deliberation,  "Have  you 
thought  of  your  father  ?" 

"Much.  I  know  that  he  is  set  upon  my  preaching,  and  if 
I  change  he  will  take  it  hard.  He  may  think  that  I  am  act- 
ing the  fool.  Perhaps,  indeed,  I  should  do  well  enough —  ?" 
The  sentence  broke  in  uncertainty. 

"Is  not  his  wish  a  reason  for  sticking  to  it?  You  may 
place  confidence  in  your  father's  judgment." 

"His  wish  is  a  reason,  yes;  but  a  man  must  decide  for 
himself,  according  to  what  he  knows  of  himself.  Certainly, 
if  anything  is  his,  it  is  his  integrity,"  answered  Jonathan, 
stiffening  instantly  at  the  suggestion  of  subordination. 

The  minister  was  struck  anew  by  the  spectacle  of  Youth — 
a  sight  which  always  evoked  his  charity.  He  said,  rather 
ceremoniously:  "It  is  high  time  for  me  to  go  into  church. 
You  come  too,  and  sit  with  me.  Certainly  you  need  take 
no  action  until  after  service.  Think  it  over  well." 

Jonathan  obeyed.  It  was  but  a  few  minutes  since  his 
uncle  had  arrived,  but  it  was  a  long  time  in  his  history, 
and  he  had  to  achieve  composure.  The  calm  reception 
of  his  announcement  had  diminished  his  own  idea  of  its 
importance;  and  as  he  went  through  the  churchyard, 
avoiding  the  admiring  glances  of  the  congregation,  and 
took  for  the  first  time  the  visiting  clergyman's  chair,  he 
was  aware,  as  the  minister  had  intended  he  should  be,  of 

32 


A    DAY    OF    DOUBT    FOR    JONATHAN 

a  mental  position  equally  new,  from  which  he  must  care- 
fully think  his  way.  The  church  was  one  of  the  large  country 
edifices  accommodating  many  hundreds  of  worshippers 
which  are  equally  important  in  the  landscape  and  in  the 
life  of  the  parish.  It  had  been  a  part  of  his  life;  he  had 
been  taken  to  the  dedication  when  he  was  a  very  little  boy. 
The  cold  walls,  made  no  more  amenable  by  the  crudely 
colored  windows;  the  uncomfortable  pews;  the  rampart- 
like  Bible,  with  gorgeous  bookmarks  depending — all  were 
just  as  they  had  been  while  he  grew  up:  on  all  those  Sun- 
days light  had  fallen  upon  the  rows  and  rows  of  robust 
country  faces  as  it  was  falling  now.  In  his  state  of  mind 
it  was  easier  to  remember  than  to  see  who  was  actually 
before  him;  but  presently  he  distinguished  an  uncle  and 
aunt,  Elias  and  Cassandra  Heilig,  the  one  surveying  him 
with  almost  paternal  satisfaction,  the  other  with  an  air  of 
not  telling  the  worst,  which  was  as  far  as  she  usually  went 
toward  affability.  Then  Uncle  Heman  and  Aunt  Hen- 
rietta Geiger  became  perceptible.  She  smiled  at  him  so 
delightedly  that  he  smiled  back  at  her,  and  she  could  scarce- 
ly refrain  from  attracting  the  attention  of  her  sister  Su- 
sanna by  a  demonstration  of  pride.  Susanna,  draped  in 
the  purple  gown  of  Esther's  selection,  made  with  many 
complications  of  trimming,  with  prosperous  head-gear  and 
a  long  gold  chain,  was  a  stately  spectacle  as  she  proceeded 
up  the  aisle.  Jonathan  could  see  that  his  unexpected  ap- 
pearance gave  her  a  real  shock;  but  her  manner  did  not 
falter  for  a  second,  and  she  seated  herself  alone  in  the 
Heilig  pew,  where  he  was  accustomed  to  sit  with  her,  with 
the  air  of  a  queen-mother  beholding  for  the  first  time  her 
son  enthroned.  He  knew  what  she  felt — knew  so  well 
that  by  the  time  he  looked  on  to  his  father,  Job  had  taken 

33 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

his  place  among  the  elders,  and  was  receiving  their  felicita- 
tions, conveyed  in  a  nod  or  a  gutteral  whisper.  When  the 
eyes  of  the  father  and  son  met,  Jonathan  felt  a  thrill.  There 
was  a  degree  of  happiness  apparent  in  the  bright,  blue-gray 
eyes  and  in  the  lips,  proudly  shut  lest  they  express  too 
much,  which  gave  him  a  new  light  upon  paternal  feeling, 
and  which  he  was  deeply  proud  to  cause.  And  this  was 
what  he  was  about  to  frustrate! 

As  the  service  went  on,  and  he  perceived  his  brother 
Jesse  in  the  choir,  his  brother  Antony  in  the  gallery,  and 
recognized,  one  after  another,  the  friendly  people  who 
were  ready  to  receive  him  heartily,  he  had  to  be  happy. 
"Compassed  about  with  so  great  a  cloud  of  witnesses," 
he  thought;  and  the  sense  of  being  on  trial  made  him 
want  to  work  for  approbation  immediately  and  hard. 
There  was  time  to  recall  some  of  the  many  things  which 
he  had  meant  to  say  to  such  people  as  these  when  he 
should  be  authorized  to  assist  them,  and  the  changes  he 
had  hoped  to  make  in  certain  lives;  plenty  of  time,  too,  for 
his  father's  feelings  to  become  clearer  and  clearer  to  him, 
as  he  pondered  them  during  the  singing.  He  could  not 
know  them  fully,  being  cut  off  by  the  unbridged  gap  of 
time:  he  could  not  know  that  the  sight  of  him  in  that 
honorable  position  restored  to  Job  the  sense  of  sublime 
agreement  with  his  purposes,  which  had  been  lost  to  him 
since  Esther's  straying  on  Ash  Wednesday;  nor  Job's 
sympathy,  which  he  himself  felt  to  be  presumptuous  in 
a  mortal,  with  the  divine  paternity,  that  charged  the  phrases, 
"von  Jem  Voter — geboren — eines  Wesens  mit  Jem  Voter" 
with  an  incommunicable  meaning.  In  the  prayer  of  a 
pastoral  people  they  were  nearer.  These  descendants  of 
tilling  generations  did  not  pray  as  a  matter  of  form :  "Behiite 

34 


A    DAY    OF    DOUBT    FOR    JONATHAN 

uns  gnadig  vor  Pestilenz  und  schadhcher  Seuche  an  Men- 
schen  und  Vieh^  vor  Feuers-und  Wassersnoth^  vor  Hagel 
und  Ungewitter,  vor  Misswachs  und  theurer  Zeit."  Here 
the  younger  man,  drawn  back  to  the  land  by  impulses  cen- 
turies old,  felt  more  than  Job — more  still,  as  the  sermon 
corroborated  those  bequeathed  desires,  for  it  chanced  to 
be  on  the  text,  "The  strength  of  the  hills  is  His  also." 

The  minister  regretted  that  text  on  account  of  his  special 
auditor.  Aware  that  too  much  had  been  felt  in  the  course 
of  the  morning  for  ordinary  greetings  and  conversations  to 
follow  easily,  he  turned  from  pronouncing  the  benediction 
to  his  immediate  duty  with  Jonathan,  and  said,  "Go  out 
by  the  side-door,  and  wait  for  me  at  the  organist's  house"; 
and  when  the  young  man  had  gratefully  disappeared,  he 
supplied  the  explanations  which  the  relatives  in  a  body 
required.  A  family  dinner  was  in  prospect,  and  they  all 
were  so  eager  that  he  and  Jonathan  should  appear  at  it 
that  their  urgency  made  them  the  last  of  the  congregation 
to  leave.  After  expediting  the  most  disappointed  depart- 
ure, the  minister  started  down  through  the  graveyard; 
Jonathan  came  to  meet  him,  and  the  two  tall  men  began 
to  walk  up  and  down. 

It  could  have  been  seen  from  afar  that  they  were  in 
serious  debate  by  a  deprecatory  or  emphatic  gesture,  and 
the  carriage  of  their  gravely  bent  heads;  but  there  was 
no  one  to  see  except  the  organist's  little  girl,  in  her  plaid 
Sunday  dress,  who  came  running  out  to  greet  the  minister, 
and  did  not  venture  to  go  near.  They  seldom  raised  their 
eyes  from  the  ground,  and  passed  and  repassed  the  rows 
of  white,  monotonous  gravestones  as  indifferently  as  those 
who  were  commemorated  might  have  passed,  after  the 
years  through  which  they  had  been  blown  over  by  winds 

35 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

from  the  four  quarters.  The  red  church  was  appropriately 
near,  being  a  third  in  the  discussion — a  calamity  for  Jona- 
than to  avoid,  and  a  goal  for  the  minister,  who  referred  to 
it  by  glances,  as  to  a  witness. 

Toward  the  end  he  said:  "You  were  so  enthusiastic 
about  your  calling!" 

Jonathan's  oppressed  look  replied;  his  words,  which 
seemed  to  surprise  himself,  were  no  plainer.  "I  was;  but 
that  exaltation  is  all  gone.  When  I  think  of  myself  in  the 
ministry,  it  is  like  looking  down  a  gloomy  road  with  noth- 
ing at  the  end." 

"Are  you  sure  that  you  do  not  mistake  a  whim  for  a 
serious  desire  ?  Remember  how  long  you  have  aimed  at 
this,  and  all  your  hopes.  Will  you  let  them  go  for  nothing  ?" 
He  paused  to  give  this  consideration  time  to  complete 
•its  effect;  and  continued,  after  a  corroborative  silence 
from  his  hearer:  "Remember  also  the  influence  upon 
your  brothers  and  your  sister  if  they  see  you  take 
this  way.  Independent  principles  are  wonderfully  con- 
tagious." 

"They  are  not  in  my  position." 

"And  this  integrity  of  yours — has  it  occurred  to  you  that 
you  make  your  father  pay  for  it  ?" 

"I  am  trying  to  act  like  an  honest  man,  uncle.  I  dare 
not  think  of  father  too  much,  or  I  may  not  be  able  to  see 
what  in  my  case  is  honest.  If  it  were  not  for  him,  my  de- 
cision would  be  made.  He  complicates  it  doubly,  because 
I  know  very  well  his  wishes  for  me,  and  at  the  same  time 
it  is  he  whom  I  want  to  emulate,  and  a  place  in  the  world 
like  his  that  I  want  to  reach." 

"Then  by  all  means  consult  him.  Don't  be  too  quick 
to  make  your  leap.  Come  now,  and  eat  with  me  at  the 

36 


A    DAY    OF    DOUBT    FOR    JONATHAN 

organist's,  and  then  go  home  and  lay  it  before  him.  No 
man  can  advise  you  better  than  he." 

Jonathan  obeyed  again;  and  in  an  hour  he  had  started 
upon  his  walk  home,  finding  the  exhilaration  of  reprieve  in 
the  thought,  "Now  I  shall  forget  all  this  until  I  tell  it  to 
father." 

The  fresh,  damp  wind  which  continually  swooped  around 
him,  and  the  signs  of  advancing  spring  on  the  farms,  added 
to  his  sufficing  happiness.  He  enjoyed  criticising  premises 
and  prognosticating  crops  in  successive  fields;  as  he  went  by 
Saul's  school-house,  he  felt  particularly  free.  Beyond  it 
flowed  the  stream  which  turned  Jesse's  mill-wheels,  now 
only  a  mile  distant;  and  he  stopped  on  the  bridge  to  watch 
the  water,  which  was  higher  than  usual,  and  bore  a  large 
responsibility  of  brown  foam  and  dead  leaves.  By  the  time 
the  road  began  to  wind  around  the  Himmelberg,  he  had  only 
fragments  of  thoughts,  as  painless  as  those  leaves. 

The  mountain  was  the  Thai's  southern  boundary,  and 
the  space  between  it  and  the  high  ground  to  the  west  was  not 
much  more  than  wide  enough  for  the  road,  which  made  its 
way  through  a  velvety  band  of  cedar-trees,  with  dropping 
berries  that  kept  the  robins  there  all  winter.  Before  the 
traveller,  who  had  come  so  far,  the  prospect  of  the  Thai 
expanded.  So  sequestered  was  the  garden-like  enclosure 
between  the  mountains  at  each  end  and  lateral  walls  of  high 
ground  that  it  seemed  as  if  it  should,  like  a  Greek  valley, 
have  developed  an  individual  civilization,  with  its  own  wars 
and  poets.  The  whole  extent  was  occupied  by  Job  Heilig's 
farm  and  tenant-farms:  two  large  red  barns,  embellished 
with  suns,  moons,  and  stars,  were  conspicuous  at  the  north 
end  and  the  south;  and  from  the  centre  the  fine  stone  group 
of  house,  barn,  and  mill  so  dominated  the  scene  that  the 

37 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

winding  creek  appeared  to  converge  there  instead  of  flowing 
by.  In  the  transient  March  sunlight  the  water  had  a  steel- 
like  shine.  There  were  streaks  of  new  grass,  and  dan- 
delions under  the  fences,  and  the  fields  looked  docile,  but 
the  first  green  haze  had  yet  to  appear  on  the  cold  trees  which 
covered  the  Himmelberg  to  its  remote  top.  The  Himmel- 
berg,  which  was  the  highest  point  in  the  county,  was  a 
rotund  peak,  and  lacked  the  majesty  of  the  Blaueberg,  the 
splendid  gray  sweep  of  which  closed  the  Thai  on  the  north, 
and  ran  straight  as  a  ruler  east  and  west.  It  had  the  charm 
of  mists  driving  along  its  ridge,  and  it  was  the  scene  of  in- 
complete tales,  of  adventures  on  difficult  and  lonely  roads, 
of  wildcats  that  dropped  from  branches,  travellers  with 
heavy  purses  who  went  up  and  did  not  come  down,  and 
spots,  by  a  conspicuous  tree  or  stone,  which  spirit-seeing 
horses  passed  unwillingly  at  night.  It  looked  as  if  much 
good  or  bad  might  come  down  from  it,  and  it  made  the 
Thai-dwellers  raise  their  eyes.  To  Jonathan,  coming  home 
implied  return  to  it  as  much  as  return  to  his  father's  house. 
He  looked  at  the  beloved  spot  with  eyes  more  passionate  than 
they  had  yet  been  for  any  human  being,  and  said  to  himself: 
"I  must  stay  here.  It  is  here  that  I  shall  have  a  happy 
life." 

Not  expecting  to  find  any  one  at  home,  he  went  leisurely 
around  the  house  and  past  all  the  blank  windows,  through 
which  no  faces  looked  except  the  faces  of  the  flowers  bloom- 
ing behind  them.  It  was  three  o'clock,  the  ghostly  time 
when  the  day  which  has  had  its  climax  pauses  before  moving 
down  to  darkness  and  termination.  The  hush  peculiar  to 
the  hour  prevailed;  the  sunshine  was  too  pale  to  be  dis- 
cordant with  it.  A  voice  began  to  sing — a  low,  lonely- 
sounding  voice : 

38 


A    DAY    OF    DOUBT    FOR    JONATHAN 

f<  Liebe,  die  mich  hat  gebunden 
An  ihr  yoch  rrnt  Leib  und  Sinnf 
Liebe,  die  mich  uberwunden 
Und  mein  Herze  hat  dahin: 
Liebe,  dir  ergeb  ich  mich, 
Dein  zu  bleiben  ewiglich" 

"That  must  be  Bertha,  about  whom  they  wrote  to  me," 
he  thought. 

Some  one  crossed  the  floor,  and  looked  over  the  gera- 
niums to  see  who  knocked.  He  observed  that  her  hair 
waved  up  from  her  forehead  and  shaded  it.  Then  she 
opened  the  door,  and  he  did  not  know  what  to  say  to 
her. 

"Good-day,"  she  said,  in  a  soft,  abrupt  way. 

"I  am  Jonathan  Heilig,"  he  replied,  resorting  to  a  state- 
ment of  facts.  "Have  any  of  them  come  back  ?" 

"Not  yet." 

She  stood  back  humbly  to  let  him  enter,  and  moved  to 
shut  the  door  after  him,  but  he  had  learned  in  his  years 
away  to  take  care  of  women,  so  he  did  that  himself,  and 
waited  for  her  to  sit.  After  hesitation  she  did  sit,  and  with 
the  evident  purpose  of  removing  them  from  his  attention, 
she  closed  two  little  cases  which  were  standing  on  the  table. 
He  saw  that  they  were  daguerrotype-cases — she  must  have 
been  singing  to  herself,  with  them  beside  her  for  company. 
He  continued  to  look  at  her,  and  she  underwent  his  look 
without  response,  and  without  relaxing  the  bearing,  which 
she  had  assumed,  of  a  servant  in  the  presence  of  her  master's 
son;  but  she  had  an  expression  of  detachment,  and  he  could 
not  promise  himself  that  his  opinion  of  her  would  interest 
her  much. 

4  39 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

Desiring  to  say  something,  he  again  fell  back  upon  a 
fact:  "I  am  glad  to  be  at  home." 

She  replied  by  a  slight  smile,  and  her  eyes  were  im- 
mediately lowered  again.  He  was  sure  that  she  had  selected 
this  out  of  an  abundance  of  possible  replies. 

"They  write  me  that  Saul  Gantner  has  decided  to  go 
away,"  he  persisted.  "The  family  is  changing.  You 
have  come  and  I  have  come,  and  he  is  about  to  go." 

"Yes,  I  believe  so." 

Her  manner  was  so  gentle  that  it  made  even  this  brevity 
soft;  her  grave  face  looked  mobile  enough  for  a  wide  range 
of  expression,  and  he  wished  to  see  it  change. 

"I  am  glad  to  come  home  to  the  hills,"  he  said,  choosing 
the  subject  in  compliance  with  a  whim  that  might  have 
been  Jesse's. 

The  choice  was  successful;  the  grave  face  lighted,  and 
she  did  not  look  so  handmaidenlike. 

"It  is  hard  to  be  away  from  them.  When  I  was  a  lit- 
tle girl  I  looked  south  to  the  Blaueberg,  and  thought  that 
it  was  the  end  of  the  world." 

He  wanted  so  much  to  have  her  continue  that  he  was 
disappointed  unreasonably  when  she  stopped.  There  was 
quite  a  long  silence,  across  which  Susanna's  clock  went 
ticking  on.  That  clock,  which  had  afforded  faithful  ser- 
vice to  generations  before  Jonathan,  marking  unconcernedly 
the  moments  of  death  and  birth,  and  changing  its  aspect 
for  nothing  nearer  than  the  moon,  was  a  steadying  com- 
panion. 

"It  is  a  good  old  friend.  Were  you  sitting  alone  with 
it?"  he  asked,  indicating  his  subject  by  a  smiling  glance. 

"Yes.  It  is  a  good  friend.  Our  old  clock  was  like  a 
part  of  the  family.  It  seems  that  it,  and  anything  that 

40 


A    DAY    OF   DOUBT    FOR    JONATHAN 

we  have  lived  with  for  a  long  time,  must  have  feelings  of 
its  own." 

There  was  another  pause,  during  which,  as  Jonathan 
looked  at  the  work-worn  hands  which  lay  in  self-controlled 
quiet  in  her  lap.  and  again  at  her  face,  an  impulse  took 
possession  of  him  to  go  at  once  and  see  all  his  family. 
Not  only  was  he  more  aware  than  usual  of  warm  attach- 
ment to  them;  he  was  also  conscious,  as  by  a  flood  of 
fresh  light  from  an  unknown  quarter,  of  greatly  increased 
power  to  appreciate  duties  and  human  relations  and  affec- 
tions. His  mind  had  never  felt  so  capable,  and  he  was 
sure  that  by  the  time  he  had  walked  the  two  miles  to  his 
aunt's  house  he  would  know  how  he  ought  to  decide.  It 
was  of  no  use  to  wait — cowardly,  rather. 

"I  shall  walk  over  to  my  aunt's,"  he  announced. 

He  left  abruptly,  and  started  away  on  the  road  that 
led  to  a  new  goal.  He  was  under  the  hallucination  that 
he  was  now  about  to  decide,  and  that  the  decision  would  be 
made  by  him,  free  and  independent. 


IV 

JONATHAN  ANNOUNCES  A   DECISION 

TJENRIETTA  GEIGER'S  friends  generally  began,  as 
11  they  approached  her  house,  the  self-congratulation  in- 
duced by  recalling  her  career,  which  was  a  succession  of 
frivolous  choices.  At  the  time  when  she  light-heartedly 
married  beneath  her,  this  excuse  for  a  house,  with  sagging 
walls  and  patches  tinkered  by  himself,  was  the  sole  posses- 
sion with  which  Heman  backed  his  suit;  and  he  had  neither 
rebuilt  it  nor  added  acres  to  his  inherited  few.  The  one 
thing  that  he  did  multiply  was  children.  They  were  so 
frequent — running  out  of  doors,  and  riding  up  on  colts,  and 
sliding  down  from  trees,  when  one  was  looking  over  the 
place  to  see  how  badly  off  Henny  really  was — that  it  was 
difficult  to  believe  that  there  were  only  six  of  them,  and 
her  rosy  cheeks  seemed  quite  irrational.  She  never  knew 
that  she  ought  to  be  discontented;  on  the  contrary;  and 
she  made  the  old  place  shine.  One  of  the  signs  of  spring 
in  the  neighborhood  was  her  short,  round  figure  clinging 
to  a  ladder  like  a  woodpecker  to  a  tree  and  whitewashing 
with  vigorous  sweeps.  At  the  same  time  Heman  was 
usually  on  the  roof,  painting  it  green,  and  a  great  deal  of 
lively  conversation  went  on.  It  was  another  scandal  about 
Henny  that  she  had  been  married  for  fifteen  years,  and 
had  more  to  say  to  her  husband  now  than  had  most  court- 

42 


JONATHAN    ANNOUNCES    A    DECISION 

ing  couples;  and  the  wonder  was  how  Heman,  who  was 
a  silent  man,  could  stand  it;  but  he  actually  seemed  anx- 
ious to  miss  none  of  the  remarks  that  came  floating  up  to 
him  while  she  whitewashed  the  gable.  However,  neither 
his  devotion  nor  their  embellishment  of  the  old  place  could 
blind  her  friends.  The  dilapidation  of  the  porch  was  not 
concealed  by  the  honeysuckles,  which  now,  in  March,  had 
already  put  out  some  infantile  leaves;  the  lilac-bushes  on 
both  sides  of  the  gate  had  the  air  of  meaning  to  begin  im- 
mediately upon  their  non-utilitarian  sweetness,  but  the 
gate  itself  was  hard  to  shut,  because  of  having  been  much 
swung  on;  there  were  more  flower-beds  than  were  com- 
patible with  the  duties  of  a  woman  who  had  gone  into 
maternity  so  extensively;  and  Heman's  fields,  while  they 
were  in  excellent  order,  were  certainly  not  many.  Noting 
these  points,  the  chorus  sighed,  "Six  children!" 

The  appearance  of  the  couple  was  more  than  usually  in- 
appropriate to  the  circumstances  attributed  to  them  on  the 
morning  when  they  drove  home  from  church  at  a  profane 
pace,  in  order  to  be  in  time  for  their  own  dinner-party. 
Their  shining  sorrel  had  passed  three  other  horses  in  the 
course  of  the  four-mile  drive,  and  was  in  the  humor  for  a 
little  conceited  prancing;  so  Heman  had  to  hold  the  reins 
in  one  hand  and  help  Henny  with  the  other  to  jump  down 
over  the  wheel.  He  was  a  thin-mouthed,  rather  small  man, 
but  he  seemed  quite  able  to  manage  the  sorrel  with  one  hand. 
He  wore  drab  clothes,  with  a  good  deal  of  cravat,  and  the 
wind  surrounded  her  with  a  flutter  of  brick-colored  silk  skirts, 
so  they  were  a  gay-looking  group  in  the  sunny  country  road. 

Encouraging  odors  were  blown  toward  them  from  the 
house,  and  Heman  displayed  his  quality  as  a  husband  in 
displaying  ignorance  of  his  wife's  arrangements. 

43 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

"There  seems  to  be  some  good  cooking  going  on,'*  he 
said,  with  unauthoritative  approval — not  asking  a  question, 
but  looking  as  if  he  would  be  pleased  to  know  what  the 
prospects  were. 

"Turkey  and  all  that  goes  with  it,  and  four  kinds  of 
pie.  Esther  is  a  good  cook.  Since  she  did  not  want  to 
go  to  church,  I  went  with  an  easy  mind." 

"How  many  are  coming?" 

"Job  and  Susanna,  and  Cassandra  and  Ely,  and  Jesse. 
I  asked  Antony,  and  he  wouldn't  come,  and  I  asked  Saul, 
and  he  wouldn't  come,  and  they  gave  no  reasons;  and  I 
was  really  anxious  to  have  the  preacher  and  Jonathan,  and 
you  heard  how  that  went,"  Kenny's  speech  flowed  like  a 
pleasant  liquor  on  the  removal  of  the  cork,  and  there  was  a 
temporary  inflection  about  all  her  endings,  as  if  the  cork 
might  be  easily  removed. 

"Let  them  stay  away  if  they  feel  like  it.  They  miss  an 
excellent  dinner." 

"You  don't  like  my  connections,"  said  she,  deductively. 

"If  a  man  has  succeeded  in  getting  the  flower  of  a  family 
for  himself,  why  should  he  worry  about  the  others  ?  Hen- 
rietta," Heman  looked  all  over  the  front  of  the  house,  com- 
paring point  for  point  of  its  decrepitude  with  luxuries  which 
he  purposed,  "I  know  very  well  what  they  think  of  our 
living  in  this  old  place,  that  grandfather  hewed  the  logs 
for,  and  with  only  four  rooms  in  it;  and  you  will  not  have  to 
wait  much  longer.  I  was  calculating  in  church,  and  if  I 
do  as  well  as  usual,  after  two  more  trips  West  we  can  begin 
to  build  as  we  have  talked  about  building.  I  am  going  to 
make  a  genuine  fine  country-place  of  it.  I  am  going  to  have 
a  terrace  for  your  flower-beds.  Then  we  shall  see  what 
the  Heiligs  have  to  say." 

44 


JONATHAN    ANNOUNCES    A    DECISION 

"You  may  be  sure  that  I  would  not  exchange  my  man  in 
a  four-roomed  log-house  for  any  Heilig  in  a  stone  house 
with  twenty  rooms.  Not  that  I  dislike  the  Heiligs;  they  are 
good  men,  and  Job  in  particular  makes  my  sister  a  good 
husband;  and  it  is  wonderful,  the  luck  he  has." 

"I  can  hardly  stand  the  way  they  take  the  lead  wherever 
they  are.  Ely  I  don't  mind  so  much,  he  Is  a  fussy  fellow, 
with  his  "Ja,  ja,"  and  you  need  pay  no  attention  to  him; 
but  Job  thinks  he  is  the  great  I  Am;  and  now  that  Jonathan 
is  so  near  to  being  a  preacher,  he  thinks  it  more  than  ever." 

"It  is  fine  to  have  one  son  a  preacher.  If  one  of 
ours — " 

"Ours  shall  take  the  way  they  want  to  go,  if  it  is  a  decent 
way;  then  we  may  reasonably  expect  them  to  continue  in 
it.  Job  puts  each  one  at  what  he  selects — Antony  on  the 
farm,  Jonathan  at  the  divinity  school,  Jesse  in  the  mill — 
and  he  looks  for  no  word  out  of  them.  I  am  surprised  that 
the  boys  stand  it." 

"  I  think  they  are  satisfied.  They  are  all  started  well  in 
life." 

"That  may  be,  but  they  had  no  voice  in  the  matter, 
and  a  young  man  will  like  his  own  poor  way  better  than  his 
father's  good  way.  Some  day  one  of  those  boys  will  kick 
over  a  trace;  and  then  perhaps  their  father  will  learn  that  he 
did  not  create  the  Heiligthal  and  all  in  it  out  of  nothing. 
You  observe  what  I  tell  you — Job  Heilig  has  had  good- 
fortune  and  his  own  way  ever  since  he  was  born,  until  I 
believe  he  forgets  that  there  are  other  ways;  and  there  must 
come  a  certain  proportion  of  ill-luck  to  a  man,  if  not  early, 
then  late;  and  Job  fairly  invites  it  in  his  treatment  of  his 
children." 

"I  believe  you  are  right  about  the  luck;  that  I  have  often 

45 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

noticed.  However,  let  me  go  in  and  get  ready  for  them;  I 
don't  want  their  misfortunes  to  begin  with  our  dinner." 

Heman  answered  in  rather  a  growling  voice,  as  if  he 
thought  of  this  grievance  much  oftener  than  he  spoke  of  it. 
"How  I  hate  to  have  them  bring  things  here  to  eat  and  wear, 
as  if  I  couldn't  take  care  of  my  own  children!" 

Here  the  sorrel  started  of  her  own  accord,  and  he  had  to 
get  into  the  carriage  with  a  dragging  leap;  but  he  checked 
the  horse  to  listen  to  his  wife's  last  remark. 

"We  can't  object  if  they  want  to  do  it,  and  no  one  could 
think  anything  of  that  kind  about  you.  Susanna  and  I  had 
the  best  dresses  in  church  to-day,  and  I  believe  mine  cost 
more  than  hers." 

Her  soothing  was  so  successful  that  he  even  waited  to 
watch  her  into  the  house,  and  she  managed  to  make  her 
silken  flounces  praise  him.  She  moved  like  a  creature  to 
whom  motion  is  a  condition  of  life;  and  judging  from  the 
decorations  of  the  room  into  which  the  door  abruptly  opened, 
color  was  another  of  her  conditions.  This  room,  which  was 
a  subject  of  commiseration  from  the  female  friends,  because 
it  was  not  a  parlor,  was  rather  like  a  rainbow  shop,  so  full 
was  it  of  small  bright  areas  in  the  form  of  table-covers, 
scarfs,  and  cushions.  Some  of  these  were  composed  of 
patches  laid  regularly  and  flat,  in  others  much  ingenuity 
had  been  used  to  make  the  patches  protrude  in  puffs  and 
folds;  several  of  the  pieces  had  taken  prizes  at  county  fairs, 
and  every  one  had  its  personality  for  Henny,  their  architect. 
Now  all  the  colors  lighted  up  together  in  the  burst  of  sun- 
shine which  entered  with  her.  There  was  a  lighting  up  of 
faces  too.  It  was  plain  that  she  was  the  only  sun  required 
by  the  spaniel-eyed  twins,  to  whom  a  deputy-maternal  sister 
had  permitted  the  Sabbath  diversion  of  Noah's  ark  under 

46 


JONATHAN    ANNOUNCES    A    DECISION 

the  table.  They  received  her  with  curiously  silent  delight, 
and  could  scarcely  be  detached  from  her. 

Jesse,  who  arrived  almost  immediately,  stopped  for  a 
minute  in  the  doorway  to  enjoy  the  sunniness.  He  and  his 
aunt  met  like  friends  who  have  a  strong  community  of  in- 
terest; and  as  he  sat  down,  with  a  well-satisfied  twin  on  each 
knee,  he  had  the  air  of  welcoming  conversation.  Of  a 
pressing  crowd  of  questions  the  one  which  first  reached  her 
lips  was,  "How  did  you  get  here  ?" 

"I  rode.  I  had  to  talk  to  the  organist  after  church,  or  I 
should  have  passed  you." 

"No,  you  wouldn't.  Heman  was  driving  the  new  sorrel, 
and  nobody  in  the  township  passes  her.  Where  are  the 
rest  ?" 

"Coming.  Uncle  Ely  will  arrive  after  a  while:  anybody 
in  the  township  could  pass  him,  I  should  say.  Mother  and 
father  will  soon  be  here.  They  are  a  little  late  because  they 
drove  home  first." 

"Is  every  one  well  ?" 

"You  saw  them  all  at  church  except  Saul,  and  he  is  per- 
fectly well." 

Jesse  was  lounging  in  his  chair,  one  arm  around  each 
twin,  as  if  he  were  absorbed  in  enjoyment  of  the  contact  and 
easy  position;  but  his  eyes  danced  at  his  impatient  aunt. 

"Heavens!"  she  said,  "you  know  what  I  want  to  know! 
Tell  it." 

"Where  do  you  want  me  to  begin  ?" 

"I  don't  care,  so  long  as  you  do  begin." 

"Very  good.  This  is  the  latest  bulletin  from  the  Heilig- 
thal:  Father  and  mother  look  sober,  and  say  nothing; 
especially  they  say  nothing  about  Esther's  coming  home. 
Saul  looks  more  sober  still,  and  is  going  away  as  soon  as 

47 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

school  closes;  he  does  not  mention  where.  Antony  says 
a  little  less  than  usual;  he  could  not  say  much  less  and  con- 
tinue the  ordinary  business  of  life.  As  for  Bertha,  since 
whose  coming  we  have  all  been  upset  and  solemn  and  going 
to  leave  our  homes,  she  is  not  expected  to  have  anything 
to  say,  and  she  goes  about  her  work  and  minds  her  own 
business,  like  a  good,  handsome  girl.  And  she  certainly 
works  for  three." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"That  is  all." 

"What  brings  Jonathan  home?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Jesse,  with  an  air  of  exhausted 
fluency. 

Henny  meditated  a  minute.  "Church-business,  the 
minister  said;  and  they  would  not  come  here  for  dinner. 
It  must  be  particular  business,  to  take  him  from  the  school 
so  near  his  graduation,  and  make  him  hurry  out  of  sight 
before  any  one  had  a  chance  to  speak  to  him.  He  looked 
well  in  the  pulpit.  I  was  proud  of  him,  and  so  was  your 
mother." 

"She  was;  and  she  had  reason.  Are  not  all  her  sons 
fine-looking  men  ?  They  take  after  her  family." 

Henny  went  on,  thoughtfully:  "Esther  is  sent  here,  and 
Antony  is  unlike  himself,  and  Saul  is  going,  and  Jonathan 
is  returning — I  suppose  there  is  nothing  wrong  with  you, 
the  only  other  one  ?" 

"Not  so  far  as  I  know." 

"Well,  that's  a  comfort.  It  is  certainly  a  strange  thing 
that  all  these  people  suddenly  behave  inexplicably,  and 
no  one  ventures  to  speak  of  it." 

The  two  pairs  of  mobile  black  eyes  dwelt  upon  each  other 
with  foreboding.  "Something  is  rotten  in  the  state  of 

48 


JONATHAN    ANNOUNCES   A    DECISION 

Denmark"  would  have  expressed  classically  the  message 
of  the  eyes.  Then  Henny  contributed  a  piece  of  practical 
philosophy:  "The  people  who  take  no  interest  in  their 
neighbors  —  what  have  they  to  think  of  by  day  and 
night?" 

Jesse  replied  only  by  a  smiling  droop  of  the  lashes;  he 
looked  as  if  it  would  scarcely  be  possible  to  arouse  him 
from  his  ease;  but  at  the  next  question,  "What  do  you 
think  of  this  Bertha  ?"  he  leaned  forward  in  his  charac- 
teristic attitude  of  watchful  interest,  so  that  little  Susanna 
was  bent  over  in  his  arm.  "Now  you  touch  it:  Bertha — 
Ah!  Some  one  is  coming." 

The  new  arrivals  were  Cassandra  and  Elias,  representa- 
tives of  another  side  of  life,  the  constraint  of  whose  de- 
meanor resulted  from  the  conversation  which  had  been  occu- 
pying them  for  the  last  three  miles;  as  they  had  not  enough 
social  experience  to  feel  comfortable,  when,  after  a  critique 
of  two  people  had  been  prolonged  by  argumentative  pauses 
throughout  a  slow  journey  of  that  length,  the  end  of  the 
journey  made  the  discussed  ones  their  host  and  hostess. 
The  discussion  had  been,  as  usual,  initiated  by  Cassandra, 
who  was  aptly  named,  her  characteristic  attitude  of  mind 
being  one  of  depressing  prophecy.  She  was  a  well-built, 
handsome  woman,  and  so  fair  that  unfavorable  prognostica- 
tions concerning  her  dark-skinned,  handsome  connections 
by  marriage  came  naturally  to  her  mind.  To-day,  too,  the 
appearance  of  Jonathan  in  the  pupit  had  exalted  the  horn 
of  the  head  of  the  family,  while  her  husband  had  occupied 
only  the  position  of  uncle  to  the  young  celebrity.  There- 
fore, as  Elias  propelled  his  world-weary  white  horse  through 
the  sunny  quiet  of  the  country  noon,  many  things  had 
wrought  within  her,  and  she  had  remarked,  with  a  sad 

49 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

movement  of  her  bonnet,  "It  goes  against  me,  this  time 
and  all  times,  to  eat  at  Henrietta  Geiger's." 

"Why?"  inquired  Elias,  apprehensively.  "Is  she  no 
clean  cook  ?" 

"That  I  do  not  speak  of.  That  I  say  of  no  woman 
unless  I  am  driven  to  it;  I  will  take  away  no  woman's 
reputation.  Though  there  she  is,  with  her  house  to  keep — 
it  has  but  the  four  rooms,  but  no  house  keeps  itself — and 
those  six  children;  and  yet  look  at  the  time  she  spends 
fixing  up  that  room  of  hers,  that  is  not  even  a  parlor,  until 
it  resembles  a  fancy  stall  at  an  ice-cream  festival!  And 
she  told  me  herself  that  she  has  not  an  extra  comfort  in 
the  house;  she  even  gave  all  her  share  of  her  mother's 
bedding  to  Susanna,  because  storing  them  up  makes  work. 
And  she  is  always  driving  around  the  country  with  Heman! 
So  I  leave  it  to  any  one  to  say  if  she,  taking  time  to  do  all 
that,  can  be  as  particular  as  she  ought  to  be  in  her  house, 
and  whether  she  is  not  more  likely  to  cleanse  the  outside 
of  the  cup  and  platter.  But  that  is  not  what  I  started  to 
say.  You  interrupt  me  so,  Ely!" 

"Well,  there  is  plenty  of  time.  Say  it  now.  Then  I 
hear  two  things  instead  of  one." 

"If  I  go  to  a  meal  at  Henrietta  Geiger's,  I  think  with 
every  bite  I  take,  'This  is  out  of  the  mouths  of  those  six 
young  children.'" 

"My  opinion  is  that  you  need  not  worry  about  that. 
While  it  is  a  fact  that  Heman  Geiger  has  not  much  money 
invested  in  his  place,  and  not  much  in  any  bank  in  these 
parts,  so  far  as  we  hear,  there  are  other  banks.  Perhaps 
he  is  drawing  big  interest  in  the  West.  Besides,  Cassandra, 
you  must  bear  in  mind,  when  you  do  your  worrying,  that 
one  cannot  say  how  much  invested  money  Heman  has  in 

5° 


JONATHAN    ANNOUNCES    A    DECISION 

his  barn  at  the  very  time  when  you  are  doing  it.  He  makes 
more  trips  West  in  a  year  than  any  other  stock-dealer  of 
my  acquaintance,  and  in  these  last  six  months  he  has 
bought  and  sold  two  horses  and  one  bull  that  surpassed 
anything  you  ever  saw  for  beauty.  He  made  something 
on  those  three  deals.  I  am  really  anxious  to  see  what  he 
has  lately  brought  back.  He  had  a  new  sorrel  hitched  this 
morning  that  looks  of  some  account;  before  I  could  ex- 
amine her  she  was  away  up  the  pike." 

"The  mare  is  not  the  only  sorrel  in  the  team,"  said 
Cassandra,  bitterly,  "and  it  is,  indeed,  unnecessary  for  me 
to  worry  about  children  whose  mother  showed  no  judg- 
ment in  the  first  place,  and  now  leaves  them  without  an 
extra  quilt  if  it  turns  cold,  while  she  dresses  up  in  a  brick- 
colored  silk  dress  with  flounces  and  ruffles  in  every  direc- 
tion. I  have  nothing  to  say  if  Susanna  dresses;  everyone 
knows  that  your  brother  can  well  afford  it;  but  I  do  not 
see  how  Henny  can  say  her  prayers  at  night.  You  would 
think  to  look  at  her  that  she  was  no  more  than  twenty-five. 
I  believe  it  comes  from  being  an  old  maid  when  she  was 
married — she  was  full  thirty — she  had  settled  down  to  be 
young." 

Having  heard  Henny  commented  upon  before,  Elias  did 
not  discontinue  his  speculative  contemplation  of  the  barn, 
momentarily  nearer,  which  housed  such  interesting  possi- 
bilities; but  his  attention  was  recalled  by  his  wife's  next 
remark:  "And  I  have  my  suspicions." 

"Of  what?" 

"Of  him." 

"Ach!" 

"Oh  yes!  Just  now  you  said  that  Heman  Geiger  goes 
West  oftener  than  any  other  stock-dealer  you  ever  heard 

51 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

of.  Can  you  say  where  he  goes  ?  And  see  how  he  gets 
himself  up,  in  what  showy  clothes,  at  his  age  and  with  gray 
hairs." 

This  new  conception  of  Heman,  with  little,  fleshy-lidded 
eyes  and  uninterested  bearing,  as  a  Don  Juan,  was  so  con- 
fusing to  Elias  that,  although  loyally  eager  to  defend  a 
brother-man  from  female  impugnment,  he  could  think  of 
nothing  more  to  say  than  another  contemptuous  "Ach!" 
With  his  pleasure  in  the  prospect  of  the  family  gathering 
much  diminished,  he  stopped  the  horse  for  Cassandra  to 
descend  at  the  gate — he  would  have  considered  it  youthful 
folly  to  help  her  out,  as  long  as  she  was  not  infirm — and 
then  drove  off,  somewhat  relieved,  toward  masculine  so- 
ciety. Her  expression,  as  she  entered  the  house,  was  only 
a  slight  accentuation  of  her  usual  one;  but  Jesse,  on  the 
very  point  of  the  communication  about  Bertha,  sauntered 
out  of  the  room;  the  twins  went  up-stairs  without  being 
told,  and  Susanna,  who  arrived  in  a  few  minutes,  was  wel- 
come as  a  mordant. 

She  received  congratulations  as  the  mother  of  Jonathan 
with  no  display  of  feeling  other  than  civil  gratitude,  for  she 
felt  too  much  to  speak  of  it;  but  her  voice  sounded  warmer 
than  usual  as  she  asked  to  see  the  children,  and  her  usual 
possessive  air  was  intensified  by  abstraction.  It  was  she 
who  led  the  way  to  the  large  room  where  the  whole  six  were 
quietly  gathered,  in  the  cut-up  space  left  by  four  meagre- 
looking  beds,  and  immediately  the  room  was  full  of  diverse 
sentiments.  The  critical  looks  of  Aunt  Cassandra  an- 
tagonized the  older  children;  they  were  caused  by  her 
reflection  that  those  twins  were  certainly  poor  Henrietta's 
crowning  indiscretion;  and  the  twins  themselves,  scriptural 
stock-yard  in  hand,  looked  about  for  further  refuge,  antici- 

52 


JONATHAN    ANNOUNCES    A    DECISION 

pating  the  appearance  of  Uncle  Ely,  who  would  want  to 
show  them  how  to  play.  However,  as  it  was  only  aunts, 
they  remained  and  submitted  wordlessly  and  patiently  to 
being  kissed  by  Aunt  Susanna,  who  always  brought  things. 
This  time  she  produced  from  under  her  fur-lined  dolman 
a  box  around  which  the  small  beneficiaries  gathered  to  in- 
spect the  beautiful  animal  cakes  with  currant  eyes;  and 
little  Susanna  was  drawn  out  of  the  circle  of  admirers,  set 
upon  a  knee  with  fur-lined  waves  sweeping  all  around  her, 
undressed,  and  dressed  again  in  a  truly  delightful  red 
frock  that  made  her  look  like  a  hibiscus  -  flower.  She 
fingered  its  ruffles  in  silent  joy;  but  her  mother,  with  a 
nervous  look  out  of  the  window,  thought:  "I  am  glad 
that  Heman  is  at  the  barn,  and  will  not  see  it  before 
dinner." 

The  state  of  Henny's  own  room,  into  which  Susanna 
next  led  them,  was  strong  evidence  against  Henny's  house- 
keeping: both  windows  stood  wide,  and  the  blankets 
trailed  scandalously  over  the  floor.  With  a  slow,  inclusive, 
annotating  glance,  which  delayed  at  the  ruffles  before  it 
met  the  eyes,  Cassandra  inquired,  "Do  you  always  leave 
them  open  until  noon  ?" 

"Well,  no,  not  always;  but  I  had  no  time  to  make  the 
bed  before  church,  and  a  little  cold  hurts  nothing.  Indeed, 
I  think  it  makes  the  children  strong." 

The  glance  went  on,  delaying  at  various  points  so  sig- 
nificantly that  a  gleam  appeared  in  Henny's  bird-like  eye, 
and  changed  after  a  second  to  a  slight  twinkle.  "Oh,  I 
think  my  floors  are  clean,"  she  replied,  to  no  speech.  "It 
is  quite  hard  to  keep  such  things  in  mind,  is  it  not  ?  You 
know  I  was  not  brought  up  to  be  economical." 

Cassandra  looked  ready  for  a  sort  of  cold  effervescence; 

53 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

and  Susanna,  fragmentary  in  her  haste,  put  in,  "Henny, 
that  new  silk  quilt  that  you  finished — 

There  was  an  immediate  change  of  base.  The  remote- 
ness of  the  artist  separated  Henny  from  antagonisms,  and 
Cassandra  was  moved  from  her  position  of  aloofness  by 
enthusiasm  over  the  monumental  work  now  disclosed  to 
her.  In  quite  a  subdued  voice  she  said:  "Henny,  this  is 
certainly  an  extra  one.  How  many  pieces  are  in  it  ?" 

"Yes,  this  is  an  extra  one.  Eight  hundred  and  fifty- 
two." 

"You  used  many  different  fancy  stitches,"  lauded  Su- 
sanna, also  solemnly. 

"There  are  twelve  patches,  and  the  pieces  in  each  patch 
are  separated  by  a  different  stitch." 

They  gave  it  the  praise  of  an  expert  examination:  hold- 
ing it  off  between  their  large,  work-flattened  fingers,  to 
test  color-contrasts,  or  lifting  a  corner  to  decipher  the 
method  of  a  stitch.  Susanna  was  interested  by  a  gray  scrap 
with  a  small  inwoven  rosebud. 

"That's  a  pretty  piece,"  she  said.  "Where  did  I  see 
that  before  ?" 

"On  me.  That  dress  I  wore  to  your  wedding,  and  I 
was  proud  of  it.  You  will  remember  this  better."  Henny 
indicated  a  piece  of  changeable  rose  and  green. 

"Yes.  That  I  wore  to  my  wedding.  Cassandra,  do 
you  remember  this  light-blue  one  ?  You  had  it  for  the 
same  occasion,  and  you  were  the  prettiest  girl  there.  I 
noticed  that,  in  spite  of  being  excited  about  being  married. 
I  used  to  think  it  was  too  much  that  you  had  yellow  curls 
when  my  hair  was  so  black  and  would  not  curl,  no  matter 
what  I  did." 

"You  were  a  handsome  girl,  too,"  said  Cassandra,  quick 

54 


JONATHAN    ANNOUNCES   A    DECISION 

to  repay.  "You  always  had  the  rosy  cheeks  that  I  wanted. 
Have  you  a  piece  of  your  wedding-dress,  Henny  ?" 

"This  white  with  the  pink  stripe.  I  have  yours,  too, 
here  in  the  middle.  It  is  one  of  the  prettiest  silks  in  the 
quilt.  When  we  wore  those  dresses,  we  thought  that  we 
knew  what  was  before  us." 

All  the  much-used  hands  rested  on  the  quilt,  while  the 
three  women  sat  silently  recalling  events  and  dreams,  which 
by  their  unreality  had  been  made  sweet  or  bitter.  They 
had  shared  the  events,  and  dreamed  the  dreams  simultane- 
ously: they  looked  at  life  from  the  same  elevation. 

"Marriage  is  a  strange  thing,"  said  Cassandra. 

"It  is,"  said  Susanna.  "You  marry  your  husband, 
thinking  he  is  about  the  average;  and  then  you  find  that 
there  is  no  man  like  him." 

Henny  was  struck  by  a  perception  which  she  could  not 
express,  that  the  real  diversity  of  their  three  lots  was  in 
the  temperaments  important  to  them.  The  clearest  thing 
that  she  could  say — rising  from  under  her  share  of  the 
quilt — was:  "We  have  different  things  to  think  over  in 
connection  with  our  men." 

Each  wife  congratulated  herself;  it  was  a  romantic 
moment  for  each. 

For  Cassandra  it  was  the  highest  point  of  a  day  in  which 
she  had  to  play  the  minor  part  of  critic  of  other  people's 
climaxes.  While  the  quilt  was  being  put  away  she  re- 
flected how  joyfully  she  would  make  one  with  even  more 
pieces  if  she  had  a  daughter  like  little  Susanna  to  cherish 
it;  and  what  she  saw  afterward  caused  the  little  daughter 
of  her  imagination  to  grow  up  suddenly,  as  she  thought 
how  tenderly  she  would  have  treated  her  when  she  was 
grown.  The  meeting  of  Susanna  and  Esther  suggested 
5  55 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

this.  Susanna's  warmth  was  provisional,  and  Esther  looked 
discouraged  and  said  hardly  anything.  She  went  on  slowly 
with  her  preparations  for  dinner,  while  the  aunts  inspected 
the  table,  which  filled  the  room  so  full  that  they  had  to 
edge  around  it,  and  was  itself  so  filled  by  the  ornaments 
to  a  meal  that  the  placing  of  the  serious  dishes  would  in- 
volve a  process  like  mosaic-making. 

Henny  took  a  couple  of  slices  of  bread,  and  beckoned 
the  others  to  come  softly  to  the  window.  On  the  fence 
outside  sat  rows  of  sparrows,  watchfully,  in  various  stages 
of  puffiness;  and  as  she  crumbled  the  bread  and  scattered 
it,  the  spot  became  an  arena  full  of  fighting,  squeaking, 
snatching  birds,  over  which  she  smiled  like  a  goddess  of 
sparrows. 

"Aren't  they  like  children?"  she  said,  happily.  "They 
wait  for  bread  every  day." 

"And  do  you  break  up  fresh  slices  for  them  every  day?" 
Cassandra  inquired. 

"Oh  yes.  They  have  a  hard  time  in  the  winter,  poor 
little  things!  I  always  feel  sorry  when  I  see  one  dead  on 
the  ground.  Here  they  sit  and  wait  for  me  so  confidently, 
I  could  not  disappoint  them." 

Cassandra  longed  for  her  husband,  she  had  so  much  to 
tell  him;  she  gazed  at  him  through  the  window  with  an 
expression  that  might  have  been  mistaken  for  sentimental. 
With  Job  and  Jesse  he  was  standing  in  the  road,  blind  to 
all  things  except  the  action  of  the  sorrel  mare.  Heman's 
garments  were  not  so  Sabbatically  splendid  that  he  could 
not  ride  in  them,  and  he  was  making  her  trot  and  gallop, 
with  a  good  deal  of  satisfaction  concealed  by  his  imper- 
transible  countenance.  The  three  observers  stood  seriously 
still;  Cassandra  saw  their  heads  turn  to  right  and  left,  as 

56 


JONATHAN    ANNOUNCES    A    DECISION 

the  mare  went  up  and  down;  occasionally  a  comment 
parted  their  lips.  Then  Job  nodded,  and  said,  "Yes;" 
Elias  said,  "Yes";  Jesse  said,  "Yes";  and  they  all  came 
toward  the  house.  Although  the  watcher  was  pining  to 
isolate  Elias,  she  had  to  wait  to  see  whether  the  meeting 
between  Esther  and  her  lather  would  throw  any  light  upon 
the  strained  relations  between  Esther  and  Susanna;  but 
there  was  nothing  more  to  see  than  a  searching  look  from 
Job  and  the  girl's  averted  glance.  Then  she  got  Elias  into 
the  next  room,  and  gushed  out: 

"Henrietta's  bed  was  not  made,  the  windows  wide  open, 
letting  out  the  heat,  and  the  blankets  all  on  the  floor;  but 
she  has  finished  a  fine  silk  quilt  of  nearly  one  thousand 
pieces.  She  feeds  the  dirty  sparrows  fresh  slices  of  bread 
daily,  and  the  way  she  wastes  the  butter  I  can  hardly  bear 
to  see.  Those  six  poor  children!  Do  you  think  it  would 
do  any  good  to  talk  to  her  ?" 

"Certainly  not.     How  they  live  is  not  our  business." 

Elias  returned  to  the  kitchen  and  to  the  table  with  a 
decisive  march,  and  defied  her  with  his  first  few  ostenta- 
tious mouthfuls,  to  which  she  replied  by  eating  very  tiny 
portions  shrinkingly.  Disapproving  of  him,  her  moral 
sense  also  fermented  in  a  general  way  all  through  the 
lavish  meal,  and  when  it  was  over  she  exercised  her  skill 
in  isolation  to  land  Susanna  out  in  the  yard.  There,  re- 
gardless of  the  wind  in  her  beautiful  coiffure,  she  made  an 
effort:  "Susanna,  I  think  I  cannot  see  it  longer.  I  ask  if 
you  will  not  talk  to  Henny,  and  tell  her  how  a  mother  of 
six,  who  has  not  much  to  do  with,  ought  to  keep  house. 
She  dresses  and  cooks  as  if  Heman  were  as  well  off  as 
Job." 

There  was  flattery  in  this,  but  Susanna  was  superior  to 

57 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

it.  She  replied,  "My  sister  manages  her  family  as  she 
thinks  fit,"  after  which  she  left  Cassandra  in  the  cold. 

Cassandra  went  into  the  room  which  should  have  been 
a  parlor  and  stayed  there  with  the  men,  and  Elias  deferred 
their  departure  because  of  her  air  of  meekly  enduring  exile, 
which  would  have  become  Noah's  unsuccessful  dove. 
Susanna  went  straight  to  the  kitchen,  sent  Esther  out  on 
a  pretext,  and  then  sat  and  looked  at  Henny  until  she 
penetrated  the  latter's  elation  over  her  successful  dinner. 
Henny  questioned  with  some  alarm. 

"Yes,  something  is  wrong.  I  should  not  have  believed 
that  I  could  feel  so  irritable  to-day — after  Jonathan. 
Henny,  you  are  too  careless." 

"What  have  I  done?" 

"Your  bed  unmade  when  we  came  from  church — the 
blankets  over  the  floor — and  how  much  other  work  have 
you  left  lying  while  you  made  that  elegant,  unnecessary 
quilt  ?  And  your  house  will  soon  fall  for  lack  of  repairing, 
Henny,  while  you  give  fine  dinners  and  dress  like  a  rich 
bride." 

"Did  Heman  ever  borrow  money  from  Job?"  Henny 
asked. 

"No—" 

"Well,  when  he  does  it  will  be  time  to  worry.  But  it  is 
not  you  who  worry,  Susanna.  Cassandra  has  been  talking 
about  me.  Perhaps  she  asked  you  to  set  me  right." 

"She—" 

"You  need  not  tell  me.  I  saw  her  after  she  had  gotten 
you  outside,  and  I  knew  from  her  face,  as  if  she  had  eaten 
a  persimmon,  what  kind  of  thing  she  was  saying.  I  don't 
believe  you  encouraged  her  either;  but  she  made  you 
anxious  about  us,  and  I  want  to  satisfy  you,  so  I  will  state 

58 


JONATHAN    ANNOUNCES    A    DECISION 

that  we  are  getting  on  well,  if  we  don't  tell  our  business 
to  every  one,  and  I  keep  my  house  to  please  my  husband, 
and  if  he  likes  to  see  me  in  silks  he  pays  cash.  Now  we 
need  think  no  more  about  it.  To-day  you  should  think 
only  of  Jonathan." 

In  consequence  of  these  interviews  there  was  more  sensi- 
tiveness than  usual  in  the  party  which  gathered  among 
the  rainbows,  when  the  dinner  was  entirely  done  and  hands 
could  be  laid  restfully  in  Sunday  laps.  The  last  to  appear 
was  Esther,  who  seated  herself  near  the  door,  with  her 
quietly  depressed  air,  not  speaking  in  order  not  to  interrupt 
the  conversation.  Jesse,  from  the  other  side  of  the  room, 
shot  a  comprehensive  look  at  her  and  gathered  data  for 
future  deductions;  after  which  he  returned  appreciatively 
to  what  was  going  on  before  him.  He  sat  in  his  favorite 
position,  leaning  forward,  an  intent  spectator;  he  was 
graceful  so,  and  there  was  a  fine  expression  on  his  face, 
due  to  his  reflection  that  his  father  must  be  the  hero  wher- 
ever he  appeared — unless  Antony  were  there.  Job's  bear- 
ing justified  this,  as  he  impersonally  watched  and  lis- 
tened. Elias  also  listened,  and  waited  for  a  pause  that 
he  might  set  the  women  right ;  and  Heman  looked  as 
though  a  tool  would  be  required  to  open  his  sarcastic 
mouth. 

Henny  was  speaking.  "The  poor  little  fellow  suffered 
dreadfully.  Time  after  time  I  told  her  how  to  use  the 
wood-lye  for  his  foot,  and  I  kept  at  her  until  she  did  so, 
and  the  doctor  said  it  was  just  the  thing  to  do." 

"I  have  no  doubt  he  suffered,"  said  Cassandra,  who 
made  a  concession  by  speaking.  "It  is  wonderful  what 
one  can  suffer  with  the  feet.  Ely  suffers  in  that  manner." 
Elias  moved  one  of  his  knobby  boots  corroboratively. 

59 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

"  But  why  did  you  have  to  keep  at  her  ?  Doesn't  she  take 
good  care  of  him  ?" 

"She  takes  care  of  him  in  her  way,  spasmodically,  as 
the  flicker  flies.  I  believe  she  is  unable  to  think  of  one 
thing  for  long;  so  in  the  pauses,  while  she  gives  herself  a 
rest  from  taking  care  of  him,  he  runs  wild.  Anybody  might 
know  what  sort  of  a  woman  she  is  from  the  name  she  fas- 
tened on  the  boy.  Don  Carlos,"  said  Henny,  with  con- 
temptuous affectation. 

"  It  seems  strange  that  such  a  child,  sickly  and  awkward, 
should  not  have  been  given  to  a  good,  conscientious  woman 
who  wanted  babies,"  Cassandra  sighed,  and  went  off  for 
a  moment  into  her  own  little  eddy  of  thought. 

"But  I  thought  she  was  so  particular  with  him,"  said 
Susanna.  "I  have  heard  her  talk  about  the  trouble  she 
takes — " 

"The  poor  fool,  perhaps  she  does  her  best!  Her  idea 
is  to  try  every  charm  she  can  hear  of.  Once  she  persuaded 
her  brother  to  drive  to  the  top  of  the  Blaueberg  and  bury 
a  peony  root — not  plant  it — to  draw  out  whatever  ailment 
the  boy  had  at  the  time;  and  she  has  had  him  to  the  witch- 
doctor. She  also  put  him  three  times  around  the  table- 
leg  because  he  was  liver-grown — the  little  soul!  When 
he  was  a  baby  I  never  saw  him  without  thinking,  'I 
wish  the  good  Lord  would  take  him,  he  is  such  a  miser- 
able little  boy,  and  he  would  make  such  a  sweet  little 
angel."' 

"Have  you  no  faith  in  charms  and  no  respect  for  witches  ?" 
asked  Cassandra,  with  her  air  of  expecting  a  discreditable 
answer. 

"Indeed,  no,"  Henny  replied,  with  exasperated  volu- 
bility. "I  leave  it  to  those  who  like  it  to  believe  that  a 

60 


JONATHAN    ANNOUNCES    A    DECISION 

horseshoe  cast  with  all  the  nails  will  do  good  to  a  poor 
sick  child,  if  it  is  kept  under  his  pillow.  As  to  witches, 
there  are  none.  I  have  too  good  an  opinion  of  the  Lord 
to  think  there  are." 

"The  Bible  says  about  witches — "  Cassandra  began. 

"I  know  it  does.  It  says  many  things;  but  those  times 
are  past,  and  we  may  be  glad  of  it.  If  I  have  done  some- 
thing wrong  to  my  husband  or  my  children,  do  I  hunt 
up  a  goat  and  drive  him  over  the  Blaueberg,  and  think  I 
have  made  it  right  ?  No.  Such  a  proceeding  is  no  longer 
fashionable." 

"If  it  is  in  the  Bible,  I  do  not  think  that  it  is  for  me  to 
correct  it  by  then  and  now.  It  is  there,  and  that  is  enough 
for  me,"  Cassandra  eagerly  disapproved;  and  her  husband 
struck  in:  "Ja,  ja!  There  are  the  charms  for  those  who 
want  them,  and  there  is  the  doctor  for  those  who  want 
him.  It  is  a  good  arrangement." 

This  suited  nobody.  Cassandra  was  lugubrious,  lower- 
ing her  eyelids;  Henrietta  gave  him  a  glance  which  a  par- 
ticularly acute  sophist  might  have  bestowed  upon  a  Boeo- 
tian; every  one  was  ready  for  a  diversion,  and  it  came. 
The  gate  opened,  and  Jesse  reported  from  the  window, 
"Why,  there  is  Jonathan!" 

To  this  company  he  entered,  and  closed  the  door  firmly, 
as  if  he  closed  it  against  something  that  he  had  escaped 
from  on  the  road.  He  looked  like  a  gentleman  who  finds 
himself  in  serious  circumstances.  It  took  him  a  few  sec- 
onds to  distinguish  who  was  before  him — seconds  of  un- 
conscious adaptation  and  self-collection — during  which  he 
was  multitudinously  greeted,  and  recognized  Cassandra's 
remark  trailing  behind  the  others,  "He  is  thin!"  Job  and 
Susanna  awaited  his  deference,  but  their  faces  were  ex- 

61 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

pressive,  and  as  he  shook  hands  with  them,  he  did  not 
need  to  be  told  that  they  were  proud. 

"Tell  us  what  brings  you  home  so  unexpectedly," 
Henny  said,  pleasantly. 

With  a  nervous  smile  he  discontinued  his  salutations 
and  stood  back  against  the  door,  so  that  all  the  seated 
people  were  in  the  position  of  his  audience,  perhaps  of  his 
judges.  Esther,  who  had  stood  up  radiantly  when  she  heard 
that  it  was  he  at  the  gate,  sat  down  again;  and  Jesse's  face 
became  acute  with  interest  as  they  both  foreknew  a  crisis 
for  their  contemporary. 

"I  will  tell  you,"  said  Jonathan. 

His  manner  procured  him  silence. 

"I  see  no  good  in  postponing  it,  now  that  my  mind  is 
made  up.  Father  and  mother,  I  want  to  inform  you  that 
I  have  left  the  divinity  school  for  good." 

He  was  relieved  when  the  words  which  settled  his  libra- 
tions  were  said,  not  realizing  that  they  were  less  definite 
to  others  than  to  him.  Nobody  seemed  to  grasp  their 
momentousness;  every  one  waited  for  something  more,  ex- 
cept Cassandra,  who  inquired,  "Are  you  a  minister  already, 
then  ?" 

"No,  I  am  not  a  minister.  I  shall  never  be  a  min- 
ister." 

There  were  exclamations,  to  which  Job  put  an  end  by 
raising  his  head  with  a  straight  look.  Jonathan  replied: 
"Yes,  father.  I  have  been  dissatisfied  for  a  long  time.  I 
do  not  believe  that  I  am  fitted.  Therefore,  I  will  not  pro- 
ceed. I  will  be  no  lukewarm  servant." 

The  faces  turned  toward  him  showed  various  degrees 
of  disapproval  or  surprise.  They  turned  to  Job. 

"How  long  have  you  felt  like  this?" 

62 


JONATHAN    ANNOUNCES    A    DECISION 

"Almost  two  years." 

"And  when  did  you  decide?" 

"I  came  to  see  Uncle  Philip  about  it  this  morning,  and 

h» 
e — 

"When  did  you  decide,  I  asked." 

"This  afternoon." 

There  was  an  adjudicative  delay;  father  and  son  were 
concentrated  upon  each  other;  a  guttural  murmur  of  ap- 
plause from  Heman  attracted  nobody's  attention.  Then 
Job  surprised  every  one  by  getting  to  his  feet  without  an- 
other word.  Immediately  there  were  movements  all  over 
the  room,  and  talk  which  expressed  none  of  the  stronger 
feelings  of  the  talkers — neither  Susanna's  mortification 
before  the  women  whom  she  had  treated  with  superiority, 
nor  the  hopeful,  personal  interest  of  Esther  and  Jesse  in 
Jonathan's  independence,  nor  the  quickening  of  Elias.  He 
felt  deeply,  for  his  brother  and  as  a  Heilig  man,  this  re- 
bellious return,  and  found  it  worse  in  that  house,  where 
the  Heiligs  had  condescended. 

It  was  not  long  before  Job  said  to  Jonathan,  unfamiliarly, 
"I  shall  walk  back  with  you." 

The  announcement  had  its  alarms.  As  they  went  out 
of  the  house  together,  the  first  to  take  leave,  and  started 
away  with  Henny  looking  after  them,  avaricious  for  news, 
Jonathan  hesitated  to  reopen  the  subject,  and  the  scraps  of 
conversation  with  which  he  tried  to  make  the  best  of  it 
seemed  flippant  to  Job.  A  long,  dreary  silence  fell  be- 
tween them,  during  which  they  left  the  main  road  for  the 
foot-path  which  cut  across  the  fortification  of  high  ground 
into  the  Thai.  Here  among  the  fields  were  space  and  quiet 
for  a  moral  issue;  and  here  Job  said,  "My  son,  I  have 
waited  for  you  to  explain." 

63 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

"It  is  as  I  said,  father:  I  have  decided  not  to  go  into 
the  ministry." 

"You  have  decided.  Do  you  not  think  that  you  owe 
me  reasons  ?" 

"I  do,  father.  My  one  great  reason  is  that  I  believe 
myself  unfitted.  I  have  long  been  dissatisfied.  It  began 
last  summer  a  year  ago,  and  I  tried  to  hide  it  from  my- 
self, or  shake  it  off,  or  reason  it  away;  and  last  summer  I 
could  not  longer  deny  it:  it  was  too  plain.  I  do  not  want 
to  spend  my  life  between  the  study,  the  church,  and  other 
people's  houses,  followed  by  the  women  and  allowed  for 
by  the  men." 

Job  made  no  comment,  but  Jonathan  did  not  gather 
much  encouragement  from  his  silence.  Assistance  was  at 
hand  from  another  quarter.  Before  anything  further  was 
said  they  had  reached  the  top  of  the  slope  that  rimmed 
their  territory  on  the  east,  and  this  emergence  from  the 
dark  woodland  in  which  the  path  ended  gave  a  vivifying 
impression  of  space  and  freedom.  The  Thai  was  half  full 
of  twilight,  with  the  most  beautiful  differences  of  gray  in 
meadows,  orchards,  and  fields;  the  cone  of  the  Himmelberg 
had  a  gauzy  surface;  and  the  Blaueberg  swept  duskily 
away  with  even  more  majesty  than  when  it  was  in  light. 
The  sun,  just  dropped  behind  the  western  ridge,  had  not 
withdrawn  his  glory;  and  higher  up  floated  March's  own 
small,  lead-colored  clouds  and  March's  streaks  of  copper- 
green. 

Jonathan  halted,  filling  his  chest  with  the  dancing  wind. 
Here  was  his  world,  with  work  and  peace  and  the  satisfac- 
tion of  desires :  the  Golden  Age  was  here. 

Self-defence  was  easier  now.  "Father,"  he  said,  "I 
hope  that  you  will  see  this  as  I  see  it.  You  would  not  have 

64 


JONATHAN    ANNOUNCES    A    DECISION 

me  enter  the  ministry  unwillingly  and  untruthfully,  and  I 
earnestly  assure  you  that  I  can  do  so  in  no  other  way.  It 
is  here  that  I  want  to  be,  to  work  hard  and  get  my  living 
from  the  land,  as  former  Heiligs  did,  and  as  you  have  done. 
So  it  came  to  me  in  those  two  summers,  while  I  worked  in 
the  hay-fields  and  among  the  wheat,  and  when  I  went 
fishing  with  Antony.  I  envied  him.  That  is  the  work  I 
want;  that  is  the  play  I  want.  And  I  want  your  approval 
of  it,  father." 

"You  informed  me  that  you  had  decided." 

Jonathan  burst  out,  as  if  in  desperate  resistance  to  some 
natural,  coercive  force:  "Father,  I  cannot!  It  would  be 
one  long  lie!" 

"You  decided,  in  the  space  of  an  hour  or  so,  to  make 
vain  all  the  plans  which  had  been  made  for  you  from  child- 
hood; and  then,  in  the  presence  of  the  family,  you  an- 
nounced your  decision." 

"Father!  I  had  debated  it  so  long,  and  with  all  care.  I 
thought  it  was  of  no  use  to  wait  longer." 

"  You  thought." 

During  this  grievous  interchange  they  looked  steadily 
at  the  Thai.  Still  looking,  Job  at  last  said,  with  his  man- 
ner of  careful  justice:  "I  do  not  wonder  at  your  love  for 
your  home,  especially  by  contrast  with  the  house  which 
we  have  just  left.  We  have  prospered.  Indeed,  I  thought 
that  we  prospered  in  everything — until  lately — "  He 
stopped. 

A  loud  trampling  was  heard  from  the  main  road,  which 
entered  the  valley  farther  north.  Jesse  and  Susanna  were 
driving  in,  she  leading  Jesse's  saddled  horse,  and  at 
the  sight  of  this  progress  the  father  and  son  began  to 
walk  on. 

65 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

"They  had  to  drive  around  a  long  way,"  said  Jonathan, 
absently. 

His  eye  followed  the  road  to  the  stone  house.  It  was 
quite  dark;  but  while  he  watched  a  lamp  was  lit,  and  he 
thought,  "The  strange  girl  must  have  made  that  light." 


SAUL  AND  THE   FORCES  OF  NATURE 

TROUBLE  was  coming  to  the  Thai.  Henrietta  and 
Jesse,  who  were  quicker  than  the  others  at  psycho- 
logical sign-reading  and  the  difficult  algebra  of  tempera- 
ments, had  foreseen  it  first;  but  before  long  the  whole  family 
was  under  an  apprehension  which  had  no  evident  cause. 
It  was  not  recognized  among  them;  they  would  have  been 
ashamed  to  recognize  it;  they  showed  it  by  not  talking 
much  when  they  were  together,  and  by  spending  their 
leisure  time  apart.  Esther  was  still  away.  Jesse  was  so 
alert  mentally  that  his  bodily  attitudes  were  tense,  and  his 
characteristic  expression  of  readiness  was  sharpened  until 
he  seemed  prepared  for  an  instantaneous  leap.  Beside  his 
nervous  anticipations  he  had  a  definite  alarm,  for  he  thought 
that  Antony  avoided  him.  Antony's  own  conduct  implied 
that  his  whole  mind  was  on  the  spring  work;  he  labored 
ferociously,  and  looked,  as  he  always  did,  like  the  stormy 
quarter.  Jonathan,  thinking  himself  responsible  for  the 
prevailing  gravity,  became  more  and  more  anxious,  and 
worked  as  hard  as  Antony,  though  he  could  not  accomplish 
as  much  after  his  softening  scholastic  years;  and  Saul 
believed  that  it  was  disapproval  of  him  which  clouded  the 
atmosphere,  so  he  was  as  anxious  as  Jonathan.  These 
two  disturbing  elements  got  into  the  way  of  taking  their 

67 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

troubled  self-consciousnesses  for  solitary  walks,  and  at  the 
end  of  a  few  weeks  they  had  come  to  look  alike,  because 
the  same  new  lines  had  appeared  on  both  faces. 

Job  and  Susanna,  the  only  ones  who  knew  exactly  what 
had  happened,  ignored  even  to  each  other  the  state  of  the 
family  affairs.  Although  she  was  of  a  nature  to  be  affected 
by  the  atmosphere  of  unrest,  she  obeyed,  relying  cheerfully 
on  her  husband,  when  he  told  her  to  put  no  questions  to 
Esther,  Saul,  or  Jonathan;  and  he  kept  to  himself  his  feel- 
ings and  his  policies.  As  eldest  brother,  as  father  of  several 
sons,  and  as  the  principal  land-owner  in  a  thinly  settled 
district,  he  had  had  patriarchal  authority  all  his  life,  and  he 
had  never  yet  met  with  unmalleable  circumstances;  so  when 
he  now  for  the  first  time  encountered  insubordination,  and 
that  in  his  own  daughter,  his  most  tractable  son,  and  the 
son  of  his  sister,  who  was  also  one  of  his  numerous  bene- 
ficiaries, he  could  not  believe  in  it.  It  appeared  juvenile 
to  him — certain,  in  the  absence  of  strengthening  opposition, 
to  die  of  its  own  futility;  and  also  he  did  not  want  to  rec- 
ognize it  because  it  hurt  him. 

This  was  an  assemblage  of  unhappy  people.  That  they 
could  be  so  when  spring  was  in  the  Thai  indicated  to 
Jesse  that  the  inhabitants  of  Paradise  might  also  be  un- 
happy. He  thought  this  on  the  porch,  about  the  time  of 
sunset  in  late  April,  when  the  weather  and  the  presence  of 
the  season  in  themselves  caused  all  the  young  men  to  start 
out  alone  and  aimlessly;  he  reflected  also  that  it  was  weather 
to  set  a  man  to  climbing  any  available  hill,  that  he  might 
see  as  much  as  possible  of  such  a  world.  Jonathan  came 
wandering  past;  his  gait  showed  that  he  had  no  more  reason 
to  go  up  than  down;  he  turned  without  a  reason  toward 
the  Himmelberg.  Antony  denied  information  as  firmly  as 

68 


SAUL    AND    THE    FORCES    OF    NATURE 

if  he  concealed  a  serious  purpose,  but  he  did  not  know 
where  he  was  going  when  he  mounted  his  horse  and  rode 
north.  Jesse  saw  him  trot  up  the  road,  saw  Jonathan  stroll 
down;  looked  after  them,  with  a  twist  of  his  lip;  and  chose 
his  own  point  of  the  compass.  There  was  the  eastern  ridge 
for  him. 

Saul  had  already  taken  that  direction.  Near  the  place 
where  Jonathan,  with  his  eyes  upon  the  Thai,  had  made  the 
final  assertion  to  Job,  was  a  retreat  which  had  long  been  his; 
he  had  improved  his  acquaintance  with  himself  there;  and 
now  he  was  on  his  way  to  make  a  decision.  In  his  erect 
and  steady  carriage  was  something  military  as  he  went  up  the 
ridge,  passed  the  spot  which  Jonathan  would  always  re- 
member, and  turned  south,  through  the  wood.  The  trees 
were  covered  with  young  leaves,  but  the  ground  was  slippery 
with  those  that  had  fallen  In  autumn,  and  he  had  to  walk 
carefully,  for  there  was  no  room  for  a  misstep.  The  path 
ran  precariously  along  the  rim  of  an  abandoned  quarry, 
which  made  a  niche  in  the  side  of  the  ridge,  as  if  an  enormous 
trowel  had  removed  one  scoopful.  Rocks  with  weeds  grow- 
ing between  them  streaked  the  walls  of  this  niche  green 
and  blue,  and  the  bottom  was  full  of  rocky  ledges.  When 
he  had  made  his  way  around  the  rim,  among  wild  azalea 
bushes  now  in  flower,  and  had  seated  himself  on  a  ledge, 
he  could  scarcely  be  seen  except  from  the  path,  and  no  one 
came  there  but  those  who  sought  for  solitude. 

The  symbolism  of  his  position  affected  him,  although  he 
did  not  know  it.  His  alcove  faced  the  east;  the  Thai  and 
the  sunset  lay  behind  him,  and  before  him  a  less  roseate  and 
a  wider  world.  The  old  quarry-road  had  lost  its  identity 
in  the  field  immediately  below  him,  and  he  noticed  with  a 
momentary  sense  of  inefficacy  how  the  wheat  had  obliterated 

69 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

what  had  once  been  a  thoroughfare  necessary  to  men. 
From  his  high  seat  he  could  see  farther  and  farther  across  a 
rolling  country  like  a  bay  with  waves  of  land.  Here  there  was 
no  more  of  the  sun;  the  blue  tints  of  evening  had  begun  to 
make  mysterious  the  blossoming  orchards;  the  evening  wind 
was  running  over  the  fields.  By  contrast  with  this  plain 
the  Himmelberg  looked  higher  than  from  the  Thai;  and  his 
eye  followed,  as  it  had  followed  when  he  was  a  child,  the 
mighty  Blaueberg,  of  which  he  had  never  seen  the  beginning 
or  the  end. 

Here  was  the  world  into  which  he  must  soon  go. 

Of  late,  although  he  had  had  constantly  before  him  the 
purpose  formed  at  the  critical  moment  to  leave  his  uncle's 
house,  his  feelings  had  been  so  strong  that,  at  the  times 
when  he  meant  to  think,  he  had  found  it  hard  to  avoid 
losing  himself  in  recollection  and  emotion  or  in  hopeful 
dreams;  so,  as  there  had  come  no  other  such  practically 
decisive  moment,  he  had  gotten  only  as  far  as  the  determina- 
tion that  this  evening  should  see  completed  the  plan  which 
would  impel  him  toward  his  waiting  future.  Resisting, 
therefore,  the  temptation  to  enjoy  the  soft  twilight  for  a 
while,  he  began  to  reckon  his  resources.  It  was  not  cheer- 
ful. He  might  not  ask  advice  now,  when  he  needed  it 
most:  even  by  making  this  plan  he  defied  his  uncle,  whom 
he  wished  to  please;  and  his  assets  seemed  to  dwindle  as  he 
thought  of  them.  Like  innocent  Adam,  Saul  had  "a  stock 
of  gracious  abilities";  but  they  looked  very  slight,  now  that 
he  wanted  to  get  money  by  them — not  enough  to  be  a  solid 
basis  for  anything.  The  fact  which  most  encouraged  him 
was  that  Esther  would  not  suffer  by  his  penury.  She  would 
live  in  comfort  here  until  he  could  take  her  to  comfort  else- 
where— and  at  that  thought  the  whole  matter  suddenly  lay 

70 


SAUL  AND  THE  FORCES  OF  NATURE 

in  a  hopeful  light,  and  he  began  to  work  away  at  possibili- 
ties as  if  he  were  doing  a  sum. 

An  odor  not  indigenous  diverted  him:  with  the  scents  of 
the  spring  evening  mingled  pleasantly  the  smoke  of  a  cigar. 
Only  Jesse  in  the  neighborhood  was  such  a  dandy;  and 
before  he  turned  to  see,  Saul  knew  who  was  standing,  in  a 
hip-shot  attitude,  on  the  path  above. 

Jesse  descended  by  the  path,  lounged  on  a  ledge,  and 
made  the  prospect  all  his  by  an  appropriating  way  of  looking 
at  it. 

"Spring  is  early  this  year,"  Saul  remarked.  "I  believe 
I  never  saw  the  apple-trees  in  such  a  hurry  to  bloom." 

"Yes.  On  the  second  of  February  the  ground-hog  did 
not  see  his  shadow,"  Jesse  said,  as  if  the  ground-hog  had 
told  him  so;  he  knew  even  the  gossip  of  the  beasts  and 
birds. 

"  Have  you  been  taking  a  walk  ?" 

"The  weather  sets  one  moving.  The  Thai  is  a  nice 
place;  but  —  especially  in  April  —  I  should  not  object  to 
leave  it." 

"I  don't  know  where  you  would  find  a  better  home," 
said  the  evicted  one.  "  I  did  not  suspect  that  you  had  any 
wandering  inclinations;  you  never  mentioned  them." 

"It  does  not  follow  that  I  have  none  because  I  have  not 
mentioned  them,"  thought  Jesse,  with  his  glittering  look; 
but  he  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  say  it,  and  both  occupants 
of  the  ledges  contemplated  the  view  in  apparent  peace. 
Saul  reflected  that  in  some  circumstances  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  confide:  Jesse  was  aware  that  personal  inquiry 
would  be  less  offensive  than  usual  on  such  an  evening. 
He  went  about  it. 

"Did  I  hear  it  said  that  you  are  going  away?" 
6  71 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

"Probably  you  did." 

"I  should  be  glad  to  know  more,  if  you  are  inclined  to 
tell  me." 

Saul  slowly  removed  his  eyes  from  the  prospect  and 
fixed  them  on  his  hands,  as  if  the  flexible  palms  and  long, 
square  fingers  had  acquired  value.  "I  shall  go  in  a  day 
or  two.  I  should  have  been  away  before  this,  but  I 
waited — " 

Jesse  perceived  that  that  significant  sentence  would  not 
be  finished.  He  tried  again:  "Will  you  teach  elsewhere  ?" 

"I  think  not.  In  a  trade  there  is  more  money;  and  if 
a  man  works  with  his  hands,  he  feels  that  he  is  working. 
One  of  my  acquaintances  at  school  went  into  the  paper- 
hanging  business  in  town,  and  he  is  getting  on  well.  He 
was  a  good  friend  of  mine.  I  think  that  perhaps — " 

Saul  ceased  to  speak,  and  looked  again  at  his  dexterous 
hands,  flexing  one  of  them  experimentally. 

"You  are  anxious  to  make  money  ?" 

"Yes." 

"You  want  to  work  hard,  and  feel  it  ?" 

"Yes." 

Jesse  noted  the  discrepancy  between  his  cousin's  past 
actions  and  present  inclination,  and  supplied  the  reason. 
After  an  interval  of  silent  companionship  he  took  himself 
meditatively  away,  and  Saul,  watching  him  move  off  be- 
tween the  fields,  was  encouraged.  The  conversation  had 
braced  him:  he  felt  himself  bound  to  do  what  he  had  im- 
plied that  he  would  do,  and  he  was  hopefully  engaged  upon 
a  piece  of  mental  arithmetic  of  a  domestic  kind  when 
Jonathan  came  along  the  path. 

He  swung  down  over  the  rocks,  and  swept  the  country 
with  his  eyes. 

72 


SAUL    AND    THE    FORCES    OF    NATURE 

"You  breathe  hard,"  said  Saul.  "Have  you  been  run- 
ning?" 

"No;  climbing  about  on  the  Himmelberg.  On  such  an 
evening  as  this,  how  can  one  sit  still  ?" 

Saul  thought  of  his  reasons  for  sitting  still  and  planning, 
and  felt  solitary  in  misfortune.  Jonathan  seated  himself. 

"Those  fields,"  he  said,  "remind  me  how  often  I  have 
ploughed — you  too — in  the  early  morning,  alone  with  the 
horses,  with  the  wind  blowing  their  manes,  and  the  sunlight 
in  my  eyes.  Never  have  I  smelt  anything  so  sweet  as  that 
newly  turned  earth.  To  plough  it  endears  the  land  to  a 
man." 

The  disturbance  of  his  mind  was  evident,  and  Saul  felt 
sympathy,  he  did  not  know  for  what.  He  said,  "You  are 
in  some  trouble  ?" 

"I  am  torn  two  ways." 

The  perceptions  of  both  had  become  so  acute  of  late 
that  fragmentary  expression  was  enough  for  them.  Saul 
thought  aloud : 

"It  does  not  much  matter  what  a  man  likes." 

Now  Jonathan's  own  feelings  showed  him  that  Saul  also 
felt  the  weight  of  necessity.  He  demanded,  "Can  a  man 
go  against  the  voice  that  is  in  him  ?" 

"No." 

This  corroboration  was  no  less  than  a  proof  of  the  soli- 
darity of  the  younger  generation,  which,  in  a  conflict  with 
elders,  would  bring  its  opponent  woe.  Saul  saw  this, 
though  from  a  great  distance;  and  said,  earnestly,  "We  can- 
not go  against  that  voice;  but  if  it  contradicts  those  whom 
we  honor  and  would  willingly  obey,  that  is  hard." 

"It  is,"  Jonathan  agreed,  "but — they  dare  not  hold  us 
back." 

73 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

The  tie  was  further  recognized  in  his  last  speech,  as  he 
turned  to  walk  away:  "Saul,  I  believe  that  you  and  I  are 
about  of  an  age." 

"Yes." 

They  separated.  Now  each  one  knew  that  the  other  had 
a  care,  and  for  all  their  reticence  they  were  allied;  a  line 
of  cleavage  had  been  established;  Jonathan  and  Saul  would 
support  each  other  as  surely  as  Jesse  would  stick  to  Antony. 

Saul  felt  the  comfort  of  companionship  in  a  viewpoint, 
as  he  recommenced  his  calculations  about  food  and  clothing 
and  weekly  wages.  It  was  new  to  him  to  calculate  the  cost 
of  a  woman's  clothes,  and  when  he  came  to  that  he  did  not 
progress  very  fast;  gazing  across  the  country,  rather,  and 
seeing  neither  shade  nor  light.  His  plans  pleased  him 
better  and  better;  it  was  almost  as  if  he  had  already  carried 
them  out;  and  he  expressed  aloud  a  high  point  of  satisfac- 
tion: "I  have  asked  her  nothing.  Her  father  himself  could 
find  no  fault  with  this." 

Another  step  upon  the  path — the  foot  that  fell  like  no 
other  foot. 

He  went  hurrying  to  meet  her.  Assistance  in  descending 
that  path  was  impeding  to  the  assisted  one,  but  he  had  to 
walk  beside  her.  He  cushioned  the  ledge  with  his  coat  for 
her,  and  then  sat  opposite  and  looked  at  her  rejoicingly. 

The  weather  was  changing.  It  was  much  darker;  all  the 
warm  airs  had  flown  away;  a  cold  wind  from  the  Blaueberg 
moved  the  tree-tops  in  the  valley,  and  from  the  same  direc- 
tion a  cloud  was  coming.  Like  influences  of  cold  and 
gloom  had  been  at  work  upon  Esther,  as  it  seemed,  and 
were  a  fit  environment  for  her  now.  She  was  much  changed. 
Saul  noticed  that  her  hair  looked  quite  black  because  she 
was  so  pale.  The  one  real  beauty  of  her  face  was  the  fine 

74 


SAUL    AND    THE    FORCES    OF    NATURE 

modelling  of  the  orbits,  but  they  had  become  too  con- 
spicuous, and  there  was  an  appalling  look  about  the  eyes — 
a  kind  of  distraught  brightness. 

He  said,  "How  does  such  good-fortune  come  about,  that 
you  are  here  ?" 

"I  wanted  to  walk  a  little." 

"It  is  a  long,  long  time  since  I  saw  you." 

"Nine  weeks  and  two  days." 

"And  what  have  you  been  doing?" 

"Helping  to  cook  and  sew  and  take  care  of  the  children." 

He  was  uncertain  what  he  might  say,  and  he  meant  much 
love  by  his  questions.  She  should  have  seen  it;  but  she 
kept  herself  turned  away,  and  the  pose  increased  the  negative 
character  of  her  appearance,  which  expressed  quiet  in- 
credulity of  all  joy. 

"I  thought  you  had  gone,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was 
also  neutral. 

"  How  is  it  that  you  did  not  know  that  I  was  still  here  ?" 

"I  have  heard  nothing.  Since  the  day  when  Jonathan 
came  back  I  have  not  seen  my  father  or  my  mother." 

"You  thought  that  I  had  gone  without  a  word  to  you  ?" 

"Yes." 

"You  felt  yourself  cut  off  from  home,  and  you  did  not 
know  what  to  think  of  me  ?  Is  this  how  it  has  been  with 
you  ?" 

She  bent  her  head.  Then — as  if  no  lack  of  reserve  could 
make  the  matter  worse — she  said,  "  I  came  to  walk  where 
you  had  walked." 

He  could  not  stand  that.  He  went  over  to  her  and  took 
her  hand,  not  suspecting  what  strength  he  gave  her. 

"Dear,  nothing  could  have  made  me  go  without  seeing 
you  once  more.  I  thought  that  you  would  be  sure  of  this." 

75 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

"For  all  these  weeks  I  have  been  in  misery.  They  said 
nothing,  you  said  nothing.  By  day  I  must  do  household 
work  with  a  smiling  face;  by  night  I  lay  with  my  eyes  shut 
— I  wanted  to  shut  out  all  the  world — there  was  no  place 
lonely  enough  for  me!  And  Aunt  Henrietta  and  her  hus- 
band are  so  happy  together!" 

"It  is  over  now.     It  is  over  now,  Esther." 

"You  have  always  comforted  me,  Saul — since  I  was  a 
little  girl.  As  you  have  not  left  me,  I  can  think  that  every- 
thing is  good." 

"I  will  not  leave  you." 

They  watched  indifferently  the  cloud  from  the  Blaueberg 
rolling  up  over  them;  now  that  they  were  together,  they 
could  not  recognize  clouds. 

When  the  older  people  were  spoken  of,  Esther  was  gentle; 
but  she  insisted: 

"They  have  been  unkind." 

"I  should  have  seen  you  and  been  away  long  ago,  but 
I  waited  for  your  father  to  speak  of  you  to  me.  Now  I 
shall  wait  no  longer." 

"Do  you  mean  that  nothing  has  been  said  since  the  night 
when  you  brought  the  valentine  ?" 

"No  word." 

"Nor  to  me.  The  next  morning,  while  you  were  at 
school,  they  told  me  to  get  ready  to  go  to  Aunt  Henrietta's, 
and  father  took  me  there,  and  they  have  not  spoken  of 
you  once,  or  of  my  coming  home.  They  are  unkind  to 
both  of  us.  When  were  we  disobedient  or  underhanded  ? 
Yet  they  distrust  us  without  reason,  and  treat  us  as  if  we 
were  children." 

"Remember  that  we  look  very  young  to  them.  My  idea 
is  that  your  father  ignores  this  both  to  finish  and  to  end  it. 

76 


SAUL    AND    THE    FORCES    OF    NATURE 

He  thinks  that  when  I  am  gone  you  will  forget  me,  and  he 
is  convinced  that  it  is  best  for  you  to  forget  me;  and  he  also 
thinks  that  by  these  weeks  away  from  them  you  will  realize 
how  it  would  be  not  to  be  their  daughter." 

"I  will  not  forget  you!  They  are  not  even  just.  It 
seems  to  me  that  they  reduce  the  debt  I  owe  them." 

"Let  us  not  think  of  that.     I  want  to  tell  you—" 

His  plan  looked  even  better  to  him  in  the  explaining,  but 
she  met  it  desolately.  "You  said  that  you  would  not  leave 
me." 

"As  we  have  been  apart  the  last  two  months,  we  shall 
never  be  again.  We  know  each  other  now,  and  in  thought 
we  shall  be  together,  every  day,  every  hour." 

"But  I  cannot  see  you." 

"I  go  to  make  a  home  for  you.  Think  how  it  will  be 
when  I  come  to  take  you  to  it.  Shall  we  not  be  happy 
then  ?" 

"I  think  of  how  these  last  weeks  have  been." 

"I  want  to  ask  your  father  for  you  as  a  man  should, 
when  I  have  earned  a  place  so  good  that  you  need  not  regret 
your  home.  I  cannot  see  you  poor,  Esther." 

"My  father  will  never  give  his  consent — I  know  him. 
And  do  you  think  that  I  should  not  be  proud  to  work  for 
you  ?" 

She  kept  her  eyes  fixed  upon  his  with  less  and  less  hope 
in  them.  "I  know  how  it  will  be,"  she  said.  "You  will 
go  away.  As  you  see  the  world,  you  will  think  that  we  need 
more  and  more.  We  shall  put  off  the  time,  and  put  it  off 
again.  Perhaps  we  shall  meet  occasionally,  to  care  for 
each  other  more,  to  miss  each  other  more.  The  years  will 
end,  and  that  will  be  all !  It  were  better  that  we  should  be 
sorry  together." 

77 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

Hers  was  the  conjugal  claim,  which  does  not  spare  the 
soul.  He  saw  how  completely  she  was  his,  and  he  had 
to  be  as  generous  as  she.  "Let  me  work,  too,  Saul," 
she  was  saying,  offering  herself  for  service,  with  eyes 
and  lips  as  innocently  dire  as  the  St.  Sepulchre  nosegays. 
He  felt  love's  piteous  impotence  to  deny;  and  she  was 
sweet. 

Now  the  sky  lent  itself  to  the  tractive  force  of  the  moment: 
the  cloud  was  directly  over  their  heads,  and  the  rain  began. 
For  the  first  minute  the  absorbed  ones  did  not  notice  it; 
then  Saul  sprang  up,  ready  to  protect,  but  there  was  no 
shelter  nearer  than  Job's  house. 

Esther  flashed  a  look  at  the  sky,  another  at  the  niche; 
the  domestic  quality  in  the  situation  made  her  mistress  of 
it.  Refusing  his  coat,  she  compelled  him  to  put  it  on;  she 
opened  her  shawl  and  wrapped  herself  in  it,  long  and  thin, 
with  a  fringed  corner  over  her  hair;  she  led  the  way  to  the 
back  of  the  quarry,  and  bestowed  herself  between  the  rock 
on  the  floor  and  the  overhanging  rocks  in  the  wall.  The 
angle  was  acute,  and  the  rain  would  fall  past  her  unless 
the  wind  changed. 

"Come!    Here  is  a  seat  for  you!"  she  called. 

The  rocks  enclosed  them  on  three  sides,  and  they  were 
soon  shut  in  on  the  fourth  by  the  rain.  So  absorbing  was 
the  storm  that  even  their  subject  waited  while  they  watched 
it  grow  thicker  and  louder.  The  mountains  disappeared, 
the  tossing  trees  in  the  valley  were  hidden,  and  they  could 
see  no  farther  than  the  rain  dashing  on  the  wheat. 
Loud,  protesting  noises  came  from  the  woods  behind 
them;  wet,  thick  smells  assailed  them;  in  the  uproar  they 
lost  knowledge  of  their  perplexities,  they  felt  primevally 
unscrupulous  and  hopeful,  and  the  storm  grew  and  grew. 

78 


SAUL   AND    THE    FORCES    OF    NATURE 

The  fall  was  not  all  gray:  white  streaks  appeared,  white 
objects  struck  the  ground  and  bounded  up,  rattling. 

"Saul,"  Esther  cried,  "it  is  hailing!  It  will  cut  off  all 
the  blossoms!" 

"Yes.  This  is  a  storm  from  Katzemoyer's  Loch.  Who 
would  have  looked  for  it  ?"  he  shouted  back,  with  irrational 
exultation. 

The  noise  of  the  rain  was  incredible,  and  it  seemed  im- 
possible that  there  should  be  so  much  water  in  the  sky. 
It  was  not  yet  dark;  they  were  staring  into  a  vociferous 
gray.  Suddenly  a  new  element  was  added:  the  whole 
line  of  the  Blaueberg  appeared,  intensely  black,  on  a  fierce 
white  background,  and  there  followed  the  sulky  thunder. 
The  dazzled  watchers  were  no  more  than  marionettes, 
their  mood  dictated,  their  movements  impelled,  by  the  in- 
surgence  of  the  storm. 

The  climax  had  to  pass,  and  they  relaxed  also;  as  the  hail- 
stones became  infrequent,  as  the  rain  slackened,  and  the 
valley  reappeared,  they  drew  deep,  tired  breaths.  Their 
exultation  subsided  with  the  weather,  no  longer  were  they 
free  and  able,  they  were  lowered  into  their  own  world  again. 

Saul  did  not  know  how  to  continue,  and  Esther  did  not 
help  him.  He  saw  that  she  was  dead  tired. 

"Will  you  discuss  this  further  now?"  he  asked,  with 
tenderness. 

"Yes,  if  you  think  it  worth  while." 

"I  promised  your  father  to  ask  nothing  of  you  until  I 
was  able  to  take  good  care  of  you — " 

"Oh,  Saul!    You  have  not  needed  to  ask!" 

Her  tone  and  gesture  told  him  much  about  the  feminine 
point  of  honor.  With  a  sort  of  awe,  as  if  he  had  come  into 
a  strange,  sacred  place,  he  thought:  "This  woman  feels 

79 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

shame,  thinking  that  she  has  offered  herself  to  me.  Now 
it  has  come  to  this — her  pride  or  mine!" 

She  was  speaking,  with  weary  courage,  for  she  had  to 
have  some  courage  after  the  dilatation  of  her  spirit  by  the 
storm.  "Although  I  do  not  think  that  father  was  justified 
in  taking  that  promise,  I  will  do  whatever  you  tell  me  to  do. 
Only  it  was  in  my  mind — that  we  might  be  very  happy — and 
lose  no  time — and  if  you  go  without  me,  the  days  will  be 
very,  very  long.  You  know,  I  have  been  used  to  seeing 
you  daily." 

"Esther,  did  you  think  that  we  might  begin  to  be  to- 
gether now  ?" 

"Yes." 

"You  know  what  it  implies.  Would  you  take  those 
risks  ?" 

"Gladly." 

"Then  come  with  me  to-night." 

The  ideal  of  integrity  which  he  could  have  maintained  if 
he  had  been  alone  was  done  for,  except  as  it  would  haunt 
him;  but  he  loved  better  this  other  part  of  himself  because 
she  had  been  too  weak  for  it.  Now  beating  heart  lay 
against  beating  heart,  and  he  heard  her  grateful  whisper: 
"You  will  not  leave  me!  I  shall  never  be  alone  again!" 


VI 

ESTHER   GOES    HER  WAY 

WHEN  they  came  to  decide  on  a  plan  for  getting  away, 
Esther  took  the  lead.  She  was  so  happy  that  her 
practical  insight  was  wonderfully  increased;  and  wonderful 
were  the  physical  effects  of  that  happiness,  the  light  in  the 
eye,  the  rosy  color  in  the  cheek.  Although  their  programme 
was  open  to  a  number  of  dangerous  probabilities,  she  felt 
equal  to  all  of  them.  It  was  to  be  begun  by  her  going 
boldly  home  to  her  father's;  and  she  started,  pausing  to 
cover  their  resting-place  with  a  slow  last  look  which  ended 
and  gathered  fervor  upon  Saul. 

He  went  with  her  to  the  top  of  the  ridge,  and  watched  her 
down  the  slope  as  long  as  he  could  see  her.  It  was  nearly 
dark  now,  and  after  the  rain  the  air  was  extraordinarily 
sweet.  Odors  of  wet  earth  and  wet  flowers  surrounded 
her;  she  distinguished  apple-blossoms  and  lilacs,  and  when 
she  walked  by  the  fences  she  could  feel  violet-leaves  around 
her  feet.  She  enjoyed  the  wet  and  the  perfume,  which 
differenced  the  free  nocturnal  world.  These  fragrances, 
invisible  and  powerful,  informing  her  of  various  existences 
in  flower,  were  like  connections  of  another  kind,  of  which 
she  was  just  aware :  it  seemed  to  her  quickened  imagination 
that  the  whole  world  was  netted  by  intangible  live  cords 
connecting  heart  with  heart. 

81 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

There  was  no  light  anywhere  in  the  house  when  she  reach- 
ed it:  the  doors  were  closed,  the  windows  blank  and  black; 
but,  although  she  heard  neither  step  nor  noise,  it  did  not 
feel  empty,  and  she  decided  that  there  was  some  one  within 
who  had  gone  to  bed.  Taking  off  her  wet  shoes,  she  flew 
about  with  only  the  slightest  sounds.  She  had  decided  to 
prepare  a  luncheon  for  Saul,  and  to  do  this  she  risked  dis- 
covery and  the  necessity  of  defiance;  but  by  the  time  it  was 
done  she  was  so  afraid  of  being  found  by  a  parent  or  a 
brother  that  she  wanted  to  run  up-stairs  and  hide.  It  took 
self-control  to  walk  up,  softly  and  deprecatingly,  as  befitted 
her  present  position  in  the  family,  if  any  one  should  happen 
to  hear. 

As  she  opened  her  own  room  door,  and  the  draught  blew 
toward  her  her  candle-flame,  she  experienced  with  the  chill 
a  little  sinking  of  the  heart,  for  the  entrance  into  that  room 
was  like  stepping  back — years,  as  it  seemed — among  the 
hopes  and  hesitations  of  a  maiden,  and  she  felt  like  a  wife. 
There  was  more  reason  for  sadness  in  the  selection  of  the 
things  to  be  taken  with  her,  limited  by  the  capacity  of  her 
large  linen  carry-all,  chosen  to  suit  the  needs  of  her  new 
estate :  the  difficulty  of  the  choice  showed  her  how  little  she 
really  knew  about  her  life,  even  of  next  week.  She  had  to 
sacrifice  nearly  all  her  dearest  belongings,  with  only  the 
hope  that  she  would  again  possess  them  some  time.  How 
much  it  would  mean  to  wear  once  more  the  wine-colored  silk 
dress!  No  less  than  that  she  and  Saul  were  forgiven  and 
allowed  to  return  home!  It  was  a  very  practical  collection 
that  was  finally  buttoned  into  the  carry-all  and  pushed  far 
under  the  bed.  Her  watch,  her  money,  and  the  bank-book 
recording  the  deposit  in  a  city  bank  of  almost  all  the  wages 
which  her  father  had  paid  her  since  she  came  of  age,  were 

82 


ESTHER    GOES    HER    WAY 

then  laid  ready.  Between  the  bank-book  and  her  self- 
respect  a  definite  relation  existed,  for  that  sum  might  be 
applied  to  any  one  of  so  many  objects  that  it  seemed  as  if 
it  would  suffice  for  all.  She  knew,  too,  that  she  herself 
was  not  useless;  but  a  deep  regret  came  with  the  thought: 
"Saul  gets  very  little  with  me.  I  wish  that  it  need  not  be 
so." 

She  began  to  prepare  for  bed,  the  most  exculpating  place 
if  any  one  should  find  her,  for  she  had  a  long  time  to  wait 
until  he  should  call  like  a  whippoorwill.  Now  that  she 
was  no  longer  turning  over  her  maiden  possessions,  the 
timorous  emotions  which  they  suggested  ebbed  away.  All 
her  thoughts,  all  the  wishes  of  her  heart,  were  softly  setting 
toward  the  coming  hour,  when  the  whippoorwill  would 
call  and  she  would  go. 

A  door  closed.     There  were  steps  in  the  hall,  and  a  knock. 

With  a  disproportionate  exertion  of  courage,  she  went  at 
the  knob — saw  candle-light,  and  a  face  above  it — and 
gasped,  "Oh,  Bertha!" 

"I  thought  that  you  would  want  to  know  why  the  house 
is  lonely." 

"Did  you  hear  me  ?" 

"I  saw  you.  I  watched  from  my  window  the  storm  and 
the  clearing.  Now  the  moon  is  out.  It  will  be  a  beautiful 
night." 

The  wanderer  listened  with  an  absent  smile.  "Oh,  a 
beautiful  night,  a  beautiful  night!"  her  thoughts  lilted. 
"And  if  your  presence  had  not  impelled  me  toward  him,  we 
might  have  gone  on,  no  one  knows  how  long,  without  this 
happiness — Come  in,  come  in,"  she  said.  "I  am  surprised 
that  you  recognized  me.  You  must  see  far  in  the  dark." 

Bertha's  eyes,  which  were  deep,  clear,  and  observant 

83 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

without  perturbation,  looked  as  if  they  could  penetrate 
several  kinds  of  baffling  media.  She  answered  "Yes," 
pleasantly,  and  no  more. 

"It  seems  so  long  since  I  left  home!  Where  have  they 
all  gone  to-night  ?  May  I  put  out  these  candles  ?  The 
moon  will  give  light  enough  for  us." 

"Your  father  and  mother  drove  away  early  in  the  even- 
ing. The  others  went  by  themselves.  No  one  has  re- 
turned." 

"Ah!  Well,  in  the  morning  I  shall  surprise  them." 
Esther  selected  words  which  were  accurately  truthful. 
"Are  they  all  well?" 

"Quite  well." 

"Is  my  father  well  ?" 

The  question  had  an  indignant  meaning:  "Is  he  alto- 
gether unchanged  since  he  sent  me  away  ?" 

"He  is  well,  but  he  does  not  talk  much." 

Esther  understood  what  that  silence  covered.  Her 
father's  special  affection,  which  had  been  a  bulwark  as 
long  as  she  could  remember,  was  recognized  now  as  a 
tpeasure  that  could  be  replaced  by  nothing  else  on  earth. 
She  would  still  go;  but  she  was  softened,  and  hoped  for 
reconciliation  as  she  would  have  scorned  to  hope  for  it 
two  hours  before.  Suddenly  she  was  lonely,  and  awfully 
aware  of  her  momentary  position  between  two  durable 
states.  Strength  went  out  of  her  at  the  thought;  she  felt 
unable  to  bear  the  atmospheric  pressure  of  Life.  She 
needed  to  confide,  and  for  the  last  time,  in  a  woman; 
aware  that  after  to-night  the  intricacies  of  her  soul  would 
no  longer  be  debarred. 

Considering  Bertha,  she  said  to  herself,  "I  wonder  why 
I  am  so  disposed  to  trust  her." 


ESTHER    GOES    HER    WAY 

The  attitude  of  the  quiet  figure  by  the  window,  over 
which  the  folds  of  the  dark  dress  had  adjusted  themselves 
finely,  would  have  suited  a  sculptured  Pensive  Woman; 
and  the  moon,  which  had  surmounted  the  rain-clouds, 
poured  thought-disturbing  light  upon  her  hair.  Rather 
languidly  she  moved  to  rise.  The  movement  elicited  from 
Esther's  mood  a  flash  of  decision. 

She  said:  "Do  not  go,  Bertha.  I  have  much  to  say  to 
you.  Tell  me,  what  have  you  done  with  your  house  on 
the  mountain  ?" 

The  implication  of  her  hurried  manner  was  serious,  and 
Bertha  answered  with  expectation:  "Nothing.  If  any  one 
asks,  I  am  willing  to  rent  it,  but  it  is  not  likely  that  any 
one  will  ask.  It  is  a  poor  place;  my  father  built  it  himself. 
When  your  father  employed  me,  I  locked  the  door  and  left 
it;  and  there  it  stands,  by  itself." 

"Changes  may  occur  quickly.  Your  life  has  changed 
quickly." 

"Yes." 

"Now  mine  is  at  the  point  of  change;  my  time  has  come; 
and  though  I  have  not  known  you  long,  I  am  going  to  ask 
your  help.  Will  you  lend  me  your  house  to-night  ?" 

Never  in  her  life  had  Esther  spoken  so  well  as  now  in 
telling  her  tale.  Its  effect  upon  the  listener,  who  had  been 
prepared  in  secret  ways  to  hear  it  with  fellow-feeling,  was 
upheaving;  but  when  it  ended  she  had  used  her  will  upon 
herself,  and  was  ready: 

"You  are  always  welcome  to  my  house,  but  I  hope  that 
to-night  you  will  not  use  it.  I  beg  you  not  to  go." 

"Why?" 

"Can  you  ask  me  ?  I  understand  well  that  this  has  en- 
dured for  a  long  time:  your  father  has  seemed  hard,  you 

85 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

have  no  hope  but  what  you  and  he  make  for  yourselves; 
but  can  you  be  happy  in  a  new  life  after  you  have  begun 
it  in  such  a  way  ?  Although  I  have  not  been  here  long,  it 
has  been  long  enough  for  me  to  see  that  you  are  first  with 
your  father;  and  you  know  what  a  grief  this  would  be  to 
him." 

"It  is  not  my  choice.     He  gives  me  no  chance." 

"That  may  be;  now  it  is  your  privilege  to  give  him  one. 
Oh,  Esther,  I  have  lost  my  father,  and  every  one  of  my 
shortcomings  toward  him  is  heavy  on  me!  Spare  yourself 
this!" 

"It  is  not  myself  or  my  father  whom  I  must  think  of 
first—" 

"And  how  does  it  become  the  daughter  of  Job  Heilig, 
of  the  Heiligthal,  to  slip  away  with  a  man  by  night,  and  to 
take  refuge  on  the  mountain  ?" 

It  did  not  serve.  Back  out  of  the  darkness  came  Esther's 
response:  "Bertha,  you  have  never  loved." 

This  struck  what  Bertha  had  been  exterminating  on 
suspicion. 

Esther  continued:  "Have  I  not  thought  of  all  these 
things  ?  Could  it  be  said  which  should  be  dearer,  my 
father  or  my  modesty  ?  Both  would  detain  me ;  but 
with  my  Saul  before  me  and  all  else  in  the  world  be- 
hind, do  you  think  that  I  would  cast  one  backward 
look  ?" 

The  voice  that  answered  was  as  tense  as  the  one  that 
ceased :  "  Esther,  what  is  this  love  ?" 

In  the  reply  there  was  a  strange  sound  also,  as  if  it  came 
from  one  receding;  but  it  was  happy  too.  "Can  the  lost 
child  tell  where  it  is  lost?" 

They  paused.  Esther  was  facing  definite  difficulties 

86 


ESTHER    GOES    HER    WAY 

with  joy;  Bertha  contemptuously  denied  a  feeling  that 
dreadful  things  were  about  to  happen. 

"Would  you  not  go,  Bertha  ?" 

"No." 

"I  will  go.     I  would  go  unasked." 

"I  think  that  for  such  a  thing  as  this  no  asking  would 
be  sufficient." 

"You  will  help  me  to  get  away." 

"I  will  not." 

"You  think  that  you  will  prevent  me  by  telling  my 
parents,  but  you  are  mistaken.  First,  because  you  will  not 
betray  my  confidence.  I  seem  to  know  that  you  could 
not  do  that.  Also,  I  assure  you  that  when  the  whippoor- 
will  calls  I  shall  go,  though  I  make  my  way  out  of  my 
father's  arms.  Help  me  to  go  quietly,  and  perhaps  I  can 
win  their  forgiveness  later,  and  they  may  take  me  back. 
Cause  a  disturbance,  and  you  see  for  yourself  how  much 
harder  the  peace-making  will  be.  Will  you  take  all  that 
upon  yourself?" 

"No!    No!    I  am  a  stranger  in  this  house — " 

After  a  moment  to  allow  her  to  realize  that  she  was  com- 
mitted, Esther  said:  "You  agree  with  me  that  if  I  get  away 
unseen,  it  will  be  much  better.  Some  one  may  come  to  this 
room,  but  to  your  room  no  one  will  come.  Will  you  take 
me  in  ?  I  thank  you.  Please  carry  what  I  put  into  your 
hands." 

Bertha  carried  to  her  own  room  the  satchel,  the  bank- 
book, and  the  money.  Esther  suggested  that  they  should  lie 
down;  and  when  the  fair  and  dark  heads  were  side  by  side 
on  the  pillow,  she  proceeded,  still  gently  controlling  the 
situation: 

"This  is  what  we  intend  to  do.  At  twelve  o'clock,  when 
7  87 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

Saul  is  ready,  you  will  help  me  to  take  my  things  very  quietly 
down-stairs.  We  cannot  wait  until  nearer  morning  to 
start,  because  some  of  the  family  might  surprise  us  by  rising 
early;  and  we  must  go  north,  because  in  that  direction  we 
are  least  likely  to  meet  my  uncles,  who  would  want  to  stop 
us :  both  Uncle  Philip  and  Uncle  Heman  go  driving  about  at 
all  hours.  By  staying  at  your  house  until  daybreak  we 
avoid  the  teamsters  who  make  night-trips  over  the  moun- 
tain, and  who  would  surely  try  to  find  out  who  we  are;  and 
also  we  shall  not  have  to  drive  aimlessly  in  the  dark  for  all 
that  time  before  we  can  go  to  a  minister.  You  see  what 
kindness  it  is  to  give  me  shelter  there.  Where  shall  I  find 
the  key  ?" 

Bertha  slipped  out  of  bed  and  got  it,  and  laid  it  with 
the  watch  and  money.  She  had  shelved  her  own  judg- 
ment. 

"I  shall  return  it  to  you  by  mail.  Then  no  one  will  know 
that  you  helped  us." 

During  the  hours  of  waiting  their  friendship  grew.  When 
wheels,  steps,  and  voices  were  heard  below,  and  one  after 
another  the  members  of  the  family  gathered,  comparing 
notes  as  to  their  shelters  in  the  storm,  Esther  checked  her 
breathing,  and  Bertha  did  so  too.  They  identified  the 
transit  to  bed  of  each  one  except  Antony;  they  thrilled  at 
Saul's  step.  Esther  confided  only  the  plan  for  the  night, 
for  she  thought  that  the  time  beyond  belonged  to  him;  but 
the  two  lay  hand  in  hand,  and  once  she  said : 

"Bertha,  had  you  not  a  sister?  I  wish  that  you  had 
been  my  sister." 

Later,  when  the  whippoorwill  had  called,  and  they  had 
gone  very  carefully  down  the  stairs,  and  Esther  was  safely 
outside,  Bertha  leaned  from  the  window. 


ESTHER    GOES    HER    WAY 

"Good-bye,  my  dear,"  she  whispered.  "Happiness  go 
with  you." 

It  was  hardly  happiness  that  Esther  felt,  rather  a  torture- 
some  joy.  When  she  had  found  Saul,  who  was  waiting  at 
a  shady  fence-corner,  he  did  not  look  as  she  had  ever  seen 
him;  he  appeared  larger,  more  impressive,  and  more  grace- 
ful: there  did  not  seem  to  be  anything  sufficiently  important 
to  say  to  him,  and  she  felt  like  weeping.  He  was  wise  enough 
to  free  her  from  the  weights  that  she  carried,  welcome  her 
in  a  way  to  express  a  tender  promise,  and  talk  without  re- 
quiring an  answer,  so  that  she  should  not  feel  the  moment  of 
starting,  or  notice  when  the  dog  decided  to  let  them  go  on 
alone.  He  told  her  in  detail  how  he  had  left  the  house  by 
way  of  the  porch-roof,  and  quieted  the  dog  with  a  piece  of 
meat,  and  taken  the  team  through  the  grass-field  so  that  he 
should  not  be  heard.  The  end  of  his  long  speech  was, 
"Now  there  are  several  hours  before  us." 

"Those  we  shall  spend  at  Bertha's  house.  I  have  the 
key." 

"  Bertha's  house  ?     How  is  that  ?" 

"I  told  her  all  about  it." 

"Very  well.     If  you  are  willing  to  trust  her,  I  am." 

"I  am  willing.  She  was  kind  to  me;  I  knew  she  would 
be.  Even  while  I  was  away  and  she  was  with  you  in  my 
father's  house,  I  did  not  hate  her." 

Saul  laid  his  hand  over  hers,  saying,  "This  night  was  made 
for  us." 

It  was  a  benign  night.  Through  the  deep  air,  which 
was  cleared  by  the  rain  and  sweetened  by  the  blossoming 
orchards,  not  many  stars  were  visible,  because  the  radiance 
of  the  moon  obscured  them.  The  dancing  of  the  horse  at  a 
shadow  and  the  rattle  of  a  loose  carriage-lamp  seemed  to 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

be  audible  through  the  whole  Thai.  The  road  became 
rougher  as  they  approached  the  mountain,  then  the  forest 
swallowed  it;  but  the  spring  growth  was  still  thin  enough  for 
the  moonlight  to  penetrate  freely,  and  they  could  see  the 
blackness  of  the  trunks  and  boughs.  After  the  quiet  of  the 
valley  the  woods  were  animated:  the  wind  did  not  let  the 
trees  rest,  there  were  many  rustlings  of  little  creatures  that 
made  themselves  known  only  by  a  sound,  and  a  couple  of 
owls  were  calling.  Saul  and  Esther  felt  no  wish  to  speak. 

A  small  portion  of  the  ascent  was  behind  them  when  they 
heard  another  and  alarming  noise :  a  horse  was  coming  very 
fast  down  the  mountain.  Saul  drew  cautiously  over  to  the 
side  of  the  road,  and  while  he  waited  his  horse  neighed. 
There  was  no  answering  salutation.  The  other  horse  and 
his  rider  rushed  by. 

"That  man  rides  as  if  he  were  on  a  serious  errand,"  Saul 
commented. 

"Did  you  not  know  him?"  said  Esther,  trembling. 

"I  thought  I  did." 

"I  saw  him  plainly.     It  was  Antony." 

"Why  are  you  frightened  ?" 

"Next  to  father,  he  was  the  one  whom  I  most  dreaded  to 
meet.  What  we  are  doing  would  not  seem  outrageous  to 
the  other  boys,  but  it  would  to  him.  If  he  had  recognized 
us,  he  would  surely  have  interfered.  And  he  is  so  terribly 
strong!" 

"Could  he  have  taken  you  back,  Esther?" 

"No." 

She  was  sensible  enough  to  raise  her  mind  from  the 
frightful  fancy  of  Saul  after  such  an  encounter,  and  to  bring 
the  conversation  to  a  more  natural  level:  "Do  you  know 
where  to  turn  in  to  Bertha's  house  ?" 

90 


ESTHER    GOES    HER    WAY 

"Yes,  but  we  cannot  drive  in.  I  think  that  we  had  better 
unhitch,  leave  the  carriage  among  the  trees,  and  lead  the 
horse.  There  must  be  some  kind  of  stabling,  for  they  had 
a  cow." 

It  was  a  strange  bridal  procession  that  moved  along 
Bertha's  path,  which  was  made  difficult  by  a  damp  spring 
growth  of  weeds  and  many  dead  branches  brought  down  by 
the  last  storms.  First  the  bride  walked,  carrying  the  lunch- 
box  and  the  lantern;  then  came  the  groom,  with  carriage- 
blankets  over  his  arm  and  leading  the  impatient  horse. 
Their  goal  was  no  flower-trimmed  altar,  but  a  warped,  wet, 
and  very  tiny  house  that  looked  both  ghostly  and  un- 
comfortable. 

"Oh,  Saul,"  said  Esther,  stopping  short,  "I  am  afraid 
of  it!  I  do  not  want  to  go  in." 

"I  think  that  we  should  do  as  well  on  the  step,  with 
these  robes,  if  you  are  not  too  cold.  Fortunately  it  is  a 
warm  night.  Would  you  like  to  come  with  me  to  the 
stable  ?" 

"Yes.  Why,  it  is  covered  with  sheets  of  tin!  Are  you 
going  to  put  the  horse  there  ?  If  you  can  get  him  in,  which 
I  doubt,  it  will  be  like  stabling  in  a  cake-can." 

They  had  not  been  gay  for  so  long  that  they  found  a 
good  deal  to  laugh  at,  while  they  established  themselves  on 
the  slab  which  served  for  a  front  step,  with  a  robe  for  each, 
the  lunch-box  open,  and  the  moon  to  light  them.  Esther 
made  herself  hostess,  and  found  it  easy  to  be  entertaining: 
she  was  delighted  to  see  how  hungry  Saul  really  was.  He 
finished  the  last  piece,  and  settled  in  a  comfortable  attitude, 
and  said: 

"That  was  a  good  meal.  Now  I  think  that  I  have  not 
a  care  in  the  world,  if  our  horse  does  not  neigh  to  some 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

teamster's  horse,  and  bring  the  driver  here  to  see  what  is 
going  on." 

"Since  Antony  did  not  recognize  us,  I  expect  nothing 
bad  to  happen.  That  minute  when  we  saw  him  keeps 
coming  back  upon  me — " 

"I  am  not  sure  that  he  did  not  recognize  us.  Antony 
has  his  own  ways  of  thinking  and  doing;  one  cannot  predict 
accurately  about  him.  Did  you  ever  see  a  finer  man  ?" 

"In  appearance  he  and  Bertha  are  a  pair.  I  wish  that 
we  had  always  known  her.  What  do  you  think  of  her  ?" 

"You  will  not  learn  to  know  her  easily.  She  is  a  com- 
panion to  herself,  one  who  needs  her  own  approval,  and 
while  she  has  that  she  is  independent;  but  if  she  loses  it, 
she  will  suffer." 

"Imagine  her  living  here.     Poor  Bertha!" 

Neither  spoke  for  a  long  time;  it  was  as  though  silence 
had  pursued  and  now  caught  up  with  them  in  the  moon- 
light. 

At  length  Saul  said,  "Esther,  I  hope  with  all  my  heart 
that  you  will  never  experience  such  poverty  as  Bertha's." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  poverty.  I  was  thinking  of  good 
times  that  you  and  I  had  when  we  were  children,  and  how 
long  we  have  been  together,  and  how  long  it  will  b°. — we 
trust." 

"Are  you  happy?" 

"I  rejoice  that  I  have  something  to  give  up  for  you.  I 
want  to  do  great  things  for  you;  I  want  to  show  that  I  feel 
much.  I  cannot  say  well  what  I  mean."  She  intended, 
though  she  was  unable  to  phrase,  "executive  love." 

He  made  no  immediate  answer,  but  she  continued  as 
though  he  had:  "Though  indeed  I  do  not  give  up:  I  am 
rescued.  Since  we  have  been  apart,  the  hardest  thing  of 

92 


ESTHER    GOES    HER    WAY 

all  was  that  I  had  nothing  to  await.     When  I  looked  ahead, 
I  was  always  alone,  and  wanting  you,  as  I  grew  old." 

He  contemplated  her  with  grave  ardor.  Nothing  else 
in  her  life  would  be  so  precious  as  the  beauty  with  which 
he  and  her  thoughts  endowed  her,  for  it  was  the  sign  of 
what  had  come  to  pass  between  them,  after  the  ransacking 
of  their  souls. 


VII 

SEVERAL  OPINIONS 

"T  PITIED  Ely   when  he   heard    it,"  said    Cassandra. 

1  "He  was  distressed  enough  when  Jonathan  disap- 
pointed all  hopes;  and  how  much  worse  this  is!  Never 
before  have  the  Heiligs  had  to  apologize  for  a  Heilig.  That 
is  what  cuts  Ely." 

"I  doubt  if  they  thought  of  apologies,"  said  Henny, 
with  combative  sprightliness.  "In  my  opinion  they  did 
well  to  obey  their  feelings.  I  know  that  Esther  suffered, 
though  at  the  time  I  did  not  know  the  cause;  and  I  can 
admire  a  girl  who  leaves  everything  to  follow  her  man. 
So  I  would  have  done  for  Heman." 

This  romantic  view  was  so  offensive  to  Cassandra  that 
she  had  to  sustain  herself  by  the  reflection  that  the  unfortu- 
nate speaker  was  neither  born  nor  married  to  a  Heilig, 
and  could  not  be  expected  to  share  the  more  delicate  family 
sympathies.  However,  Henny  now  soothed  by  saying: 

"It  is  so  much  worse  for  those  who  are  left  than  if  they 
had  gone  in  any  other  way.  The  vacancy  is  the  same; 
but  peace  of  mind  goes  with  them." 

After  this  appreciative  sentiment  Cassandra  acquiesced 
in  a  long  silence,  the  affair  of  Esther  and  Saul  having  been 
so  thoroughly  discussed  that  they  thought  of  nothing  more 
to  say  about,  it.  She  had  driven  over  to  the  Geiger  house 

94 


SEVERAL    OPINIONS 

on  purpose  to  get  the  account  of  an  eye-witness,  and  her 
eagerness  to  hear  and  Henny's  to  tell  had  delayed  the 
process  of  mutual  exasperation;  but  the  period  of  con- 
versational exhaustion  was  dangerous,  it  might  so  easily 
decline  into  acrimony,  especially  as  Cassandra  had  already 
put  up  with  several  things.  Although  the  afternoon  was 
quite  warm  enough  to  be  spent  on  the  porch,  which  was 
made  pleasant  by  the  now  full-foliaged  honeysuckles,  her 
slate-colored  poplin,  trimmed  with  fringe,  would  have  re- 
ceived less  than  its  due  even  in  the  non-parlor.  Also, 
Henny  was  more  bright-cheeked  than  ever,  with  an  arrange- 
ment of  water-curls  across  her  forehead  that  resembled  a 
row  of  inverted  interrogation-points,  and  made  her  look 
like  a  contemporary  china  doll;  and  she  was  engaged  upon 
a  tidy — daisies  composed  of  white  braid  with  yellow  wool 
centres.  It  was  really  good  of  Cassandra  not  to  evan- 
gelize. 

Seated  rigorously  in  her  chair,  and  gazing  at  the  peony- 
bushes  in  a  way  to  make  the  satiny,  ball-shaped  buds 
pinker  with  a  sense  of  their  gratuitous  existence,  she  modu- 
lated her  next  remark  so  impersonally  that  it  would  have 
seemed  unjust  to  impute  a  didactic  intention. 

"The  text  might  have  been  meant  for  us,  'Why  sit  ye 
here  all  the  day  idle?'" 

"That  was  surely  said  to  a  man:  it  is  only  men  who  can 
sit  all  the  day  idle.  For  my  part,  I  cannot  endure  to  have 
no  work;  and  if  you  are  uncomfortable  with  folded  hands, 
I  shall  be  glad  for  your  help  in  putting  these  daisies  to- 
gether. They  are  to  be  stitched  on  pink  satin  ribbon — 
Well,  if  you  are  afraid  to  undertake  it.  It  is  fine  work — 
I  have  no  doubt  that  your  house-cleaning  was  finished  long 
ago,"  Henny  continued,  politely  ascribing  merit. 

95 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

"Not  all;  I  have  still  one  closetful  of  china  to  wash. 
It  has  been  a  satisfactory  cleaning.  Every  chest  I  went 
through,  and  not  a  moth  did  I  find.  No  matter  how  much 
help  is  hired,  I  cannot  think  well  of  a  housekeeper  who 
intrusts  to  others  her  china  or  her  chests." 

"In  that  way  I  am  not  troubled.  I  have  no  chests  but 
the  wood-chest,  and  no  china  but  what  we  use  every  day. 
I  am  late  with  the  cleaning.  Heman  will  not  be  here  until 
next  week,  and  he  wrote  strictly  that  without  him  I  should 
not  put  a  hand  to  it." 

"I  try  to  keep  my  house  so  that  Ely  shall  not  find  out 
when  cleaning  is  going  on." 

"There  is  a  great  difference  in  men.  Now,  Heman  is 
so  anxious  to  help  me  that  he  will  at  any  time  postpone  a 
trip  West  rather  than  miss  the  whitewashing." 

At  that  moment  a  merry  outcry  came  from  the  children 
at  play  around  the  corner,  and  Cassandra  realized  for  the 
thousandth  time  that  no  such  voices  would  ever  call  on  her. 
"We  are  told  that  we  shall  be  recompensed  for  what  we 
have  not,"  she  thought.  "Then  there  will  be  a  large  bill 
to  pay  me." 

"And  he  is  so  anxious  that  I  shall  not  lift  anything.  He 
always  wants  to  do  it  for  me,"  Henny  was  saying. 

Cassandra's  bitterness  had  no  outlet  but  a  petty  one. 
The  tone  in  which  she  said,  "Is  that  so?"  turned  this  dis- 
tinguishing virtue  of  Heman's  into  an  oddity;  and  she  con- 
tinued, languidly,  but  heading  off  a  retort:  "You  must 
have  had  quite  a  task  to  find  names  for  all  your  little  ones. 
I  like  the  name  of  the  eldest — Anna  Maria.  For  whom  was 
she  called  ?" 

"For  father's  first  wife.  Since  I  was  a  child  I  admired 
her  picture,  so  I  called  my  baby  after  her;  but  I  know  no 

96 


SEVERAL    OPINIONS 

more  about  her  than  that  father  married  her.  I  thought 
that  to  inquire  of  him  would  be  inappropriate." 

"I  suppose  that  later  I  shall  know  why  good  things  are 
distributed  as  they  are,"  reflected  Cassandra. 

"Will  you  wear  this  new  polonaise  that  I  hear  of,  or  is 
it  more  bunchy  than  you  like  ?"  Henny  inquired.  She  made 
a  demand  of  it;  as  if  she  had  done  her  conversational  duty, 
and  did  not  care  what  her  inflections  were. 

"I  will  not,  Henrietta.  So  far  will  I  go  in  style  and  no 
farther,  and  if  the  style  goes  farther  it  is  no  fault  of  mine. 
I  cannot  afford  to  pay  for  all  those  yards  of  material,  only 
to  sit  on  it  and  make  every  chair  too  tight  for  me." 

"To  some  people  they  will  be  becoming,  and  I  like  to 
try  new  styles.  Susanna  mentioned  that  Ely  had  gone  to 
Reading  for  a  few  days,  so  I  asked  for  his  address,  and  I 
wrote  him  to  bring  me  green  silk  and  ribbon  trimming. 
Now  I  am  anxious  to  see  them.  I  told  him  to  buy  accord- 
ing to  his  taste,  and  Heman  would  settle  with  him  later. 
Such  a  kind  man  as  he  is,  I  knew  that  he  would  be  glad  to 
do  a  favor  for  an  old  friend,"  said  Henny,  with  a  sentimental 
implication.  "And  surely  you  could  have  a  polonaise  if 
you  wanted  it,  Cassandra,  rich  as  Ely  is,  and  growing 
richer." 

In  her  exasperation  Cassandra  could  not  think  of  the 
comprehensively  scathing  reply  which  she  required.  Her 
uppermost  thought  was,  "If  Ely  delivers  that  silk  without 
the  cash  payment  in  hand — !" 

At  this  convulsive  moment  Philip  Heilig  drove  at  a  fast 
trot  up  the  road  and  stopped  at  the  gate,  and  his  greeting 
cleared  away  complicating  trivialities,  it  was  so  evident 
that  he  had  no  sympathy  with  them.  Only  a  stupid  per- 
son would  have  intercepted  him  aimlessly  at  any  time, 

97 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

although  it  was  not  his  own  destiny  which  kept  him  busy. 
He  took  a  chair  between  the  two  women,  and  said : 

"I  have  been  away  for  a  few  days.  What  is  this  about 
Esther  and  Saul  ?  I  want  to  know  before  I  go  to  see  Job." 

The  new  auditor  gave  it  a  new  interest;  and  Henny 
started  in  at  once: 

"I  had  Esther  with  me,  as  you  know,  for  weeks.  I 
thought  it  strange  when  her  father  brought  her  here  that 
morning  in  February,  and  said  that  she  would  stay  awhile; 
she  was  very  quiet  all  the  time,  and  if  she  brightened  up 
a  little  it  seemed  to  be  because  she  thought  she  must;  but 
I  asked  no  questions;  I  was  delighted  to  have  her  for  what- 
ever reason.  Then  one  evening  last  week  she  said  that  she 
was  going  for  a  walk,  and  I  saw  her  start,  with  no  appear- 
ance of  consequences  about  her,  toward  the  Thai.  That 
was  the  night  of  the  hail-storm;  and  as  she  did  not  return, 
I  thought  nothing  but  that  she  had  gone  home,  and  was 
staying  on  account  of  the  weather.  Neither  was  I  surprised 
when  she  did  not  come  the  next  morning,  it  was  such  a 
natural  thing  for  her  to  stay  at  home;  but  I  missed  her,  and 
should  have  been  glad  to  have  her  back,  so  in  the  evening 
I  drove  over  to  see  about  it.  And  I  found  Job  and  Susanna 
alone  in  the  kitchen,  and  when  I  got  there  the  first  thing 
that  Susanna  asked  was,  'How  is  Esther?' 

"I  said,  'Isn't  she  here  ?  I  came  to  take  her  back  with 
me.'  And  then  I  saw,  from  Susanna's  look  at  Job,  that 
there  was  something  wonderfully  wrong.  She  said  to  him, 
'Now  we  know  why  Saul  took  the  carriage';  and  he  was 
about  to  answer,  but  just  then  a  team  stopped  outside,  and 
in  came  Bertha  with  a  letter. 

"It  seemed  that  they  were  too  shocked  to  show  that  they 
were  in  misery;  they  could  speak  and  act  only  in  that  quiet 


SEVERAL    OPINIONS 

way.  My  poor  sister  watched  her  man's  face  while  he  read 
as  one  watches  the  dying;  and  when  he  had  reached  the 
end,  he  told  her,  'This  morning  they  were  married.  Here 
is  the  certificate.  They  sent  it  with  the  man  who  brought 
home  the  team.' 

"Susanna  suggested,  'Bertha  was  alone  in  the  house  last 
evening.  If  Esther  came  here,  she  must  have  seen  her. 
Call  her  in';  but  Job  said:  'Shall  Esther's  father  and 
mother  question  any  stranger  about  this  ?  Read  the  letter.' 

'She  did  so,  and  I  with  her.  Esther  had  walked  over 
from  my  house,  entered  while  they  were  all  away,  packed 
her  clothes,  and  gone  off  with  Saul  at  midnight.  She  told 
them  exactly  how  she  had  done  it,  and  that,  I  think,  was 
a  strange  thing,  for  certainly  it  did  not  matter  how,  once  it 
was  done.  She  asked  no  pardon;  but  never  shall  I  forget 
the  ending  of  that  letter:  'Father,  though  I  have  tried  to 
do  my  duty,  it  may  be  that  I  have  failed;  but  in  one  thing 
I  have  not  failed.  Through  my  whole  life  I  have  most 
dearly  loved  you  all,  and  now  more  than  ever.  Your 
true  daughter,  Esther  Gantner.' 

"I  was  crying  then,  but  they  were  not.  Job  stood  in 
the  middle  of  the  room,  and  he  looked  as  if  it  would  be 
like  a  knife  in  him  to  say  what  he  would  say.  Susanna 
seemed  to  know  what  that  would  be;  and  never  did  she 
speak  more  urgently  than  then,  with  her  eyes  on  him,  pray- 
ing him  not  to  do  it;  but  he  did  do  it.  He  said:  'We  owe 
no  thought  to  Esther  Gantner;  she  is  a  stranger  to  us.  It 
is  right  that  we  lament  our  daughter,  Esther  Heilig,  who 
passed  away  from  us  last  night.' 

"Susanna  said,  'Job!  Job!'  And  by  my  soul,  I  looked 
to  see  if  he  had  laid  hands  on  her,  although  he  was  not 
near  her;  he  was  staring  at  the  floor.  One  more  useless 

99 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

effort  she  made:    'Do  we  not  forgive  the  dead?'  and  he 
answered:   'No.     Only  we  speak  no  ill  of  them.' 

"Then  I  went  outside,  and  there  was  Bertha,  looking 
white,  and  the  team  in  which  they  had  gone — oh,  my 
poor  sister!" 

Sympathetic  Henny  wept  earnestly,  and  Cassandra  was 
as  much  distressed  as  if  she  heard  the  story  for  the  first 
time.  They  were  sorry  for  the  women.  Only  Philip,  look- 
ing at  nothing  and  stroking  his  beard,  saw  who  really  had 
the  worst  of  it  in  this  complexity,  knowing  his  brother's 
feelings  in  the  final  scene  as  well  as  he  knew  his  gestures. 

Henny  stopped  crying  as  if  she  must  do  something  to 
help  the  situation,  and  that  were  the  only  thing  she  could  do. 

"Job  is  a  good  man,"  she  said;  "but,  as  Heman  says, 
he  does  not  know  that  there  is  any  will  but  his." 

"He  is  accustomed  to  success,"  explained  Philip. 

"I  pity  him;  but  I  pity  my  sister  more.  She  has  to  sit 
and  see  him  use  her  children  as  if  they  were  his  implements." 

"Certainly  he  does  not  judge  well  when  to  coerce  and 
when  not." 

"He  gave  Jonathan  no  choice  about  the  ministry — simply 
sent  him  where  he  wanted  him  to  go;  and  I  am  certain  that 
Saul  and  Esther  never  had  a  fair  hearing." 

"When  you  think  of  these  things,  be  careful  to  remember 
at  the  same  time — I  don't  say  that  he  has  done  his  best, 
you  know  that — but  that  Jonathan  has  bitterly  disappointed 
him,  and  Saul  has  set  his  wishes  at  naught,  and  Esther  has 
disgraced  him — " 

"So  he  thinks." 

" — And  where  are  the  hopes  he  had  for  them  ?  How 
have  his  teachings  resulted  ?  You  are  right  in  pitying 
him." 

100 


SEVERAL    OPINIONS 

Henny  said  "Yes,"  submissively,  and  sat  looking  toward 
the  ridge  that  separated  her  from  the  Thai,  and  trying  to 
perceive  in  what  had  happened  there  the  connecting  thread 
of  justice.  As  he  thought  of  his  brother  and  of  his  sister's 
son,  Philip  found  his  "sense  of  wasted  nobleness"  very 
hard  to  bear.  Only  Cassandra  had  no  doubts.  The  large, 
fair  wife  resembled  those  Teutonic  women  whose  authorita- 
tive and  prophetic  dicta  could  annul  the  decisions  of  a  chief 
or  stop  a  battle.  She  had  not  spoken  before,  because  it 
was  not  time;  but  it  was  time  now. 

She  said,  "Job  has  seemed  to  be  a  good  man;  but  if  he 
is  punished  by  the  actions  of  his  children,  is  it  not  for 
misdeeds  ?" 

Henny  would  have  defended  him  instantly,  but  the  sight 
which  presented  itself  diverted  the  attention  of  all  three. 
A  man  and  a  woman — Jonathan  and  Bertha — were  walk- 
ing along  the  road;  they  looked  tall  and  young,  and  matched 
the  spring.  They  did  not  stop;  they  saluted  and  passed 
on,  continuing  their  conversation,  as  if  there  were  nothing 
else  for  them  to  do. 

Nobody  answered  Cassandra.  She  herself  said,  "I  am 
much  afraid  that  more  is  coming  upon  Susanna  and  Job." 


VIII 

TWO   VERNAL   PHILOSOPHERS 

UNAWARE  that  they  made  an  emergency  for  their 
elders,  the  two  passed  by.  They  were  conversing: 
later  each  one  would  recall  what  had  been  said,  and  would 
wish  to  have  spoken  better.  Often  as  they  met — and  they 
had  had  time  to  learn  to  be  companionably  silent — their 
deportment  toward  each  other  was  not  commonplace,  and 
every  remark  was  exciting  and  of  uncertain  value,  like  a 
cipher  telegram.  Jonathan  counted  each  interview  as  so 
much  gain,  because  he  was  afraid  that  something  would 
happen  to  deprive  him  of  her  nearness. 

He  said:  "Aunt  Henny  looks  as  alert  as  a  bird.  I  am 
surprised  to  see  Aunt  Cassandra  visiting  her;  that  does 
not  often  happen.  Aunt  Henny  will  laugh,  and  Aunt 
Cassandra  does  not  like  to  see  any  one  gay  without  solid 
reason,  and  not  always  then." 

His  remark  did  not  interrupt  a  topic,  for  he  had  been 
talking  of  one  relative  after  another.  A  certain  forlorn 
abstraction  in  her  manner  had  made  him  think  that  she 
was  grieving;  so,  desiring  to  see  her  happy  as  positively 
as  he  desired  to  be  with  her,  he  had  tried  to  acquaint  her 
with  the  family,  in  order  to  make  her  feel  at  home.  The 
name  of  Esther  had  not  been  mentioned,  for  he  had 
perceived  that  her  case  had  better  not  be  discussed  by 

1 02 


TWO    VERNAL    PHILOSOPHERS 

him  with  this  companion:  it  would  open  too  arresting 
vistas. 

Bertha's  response  was  included  in  a  movement  of  her 
eyes  toward  the  row  of  observers  on  the  porch,  then  upward 
toward  him.  That  unmentioned  name  was  the  one  she 
wished  to  hear,  and  she  had  a  moral  craving  to  discuss  the 
case.  The  murky  winds  of  regret  and  self-distrust  were 
tossing  her  about;  since  her  new  friend's  departure  it  had 
been  so;  she  had  been  engaged  in  a  silent  argument  over 
her  part  in  that  affair,  which  no  extraneous  happening 
served  to  divert.  Day  and  night  she  meditated  it,  amazed 
that  she  had  been  so  dominated  by  another's  passion,  and 
defending  herself  to  herself  with  repugnance.  "I  shall  go, 
though  I  make  my  way  out  of  my  father's  arms. — Will  you 
take  so  much  upon  yourself?"  she  seemed  to  hear  them 
still;  but  they  did  not  end  it.  She  kept  asking,  "Could  I 
have  persuaded  her  ?"  and  was  no  more  able  to  escape  the 
question  than  to  forget  Susanna's  sobs,  heard  by  accident 
through  a  closed  door.  Besides,  she  wanted  Esther,  whom 
she  had  begun  to  love. 

"You  belong  to  a  large  family,"  she  said.  "You  are 
very  happy." 

"Yes.  A  large  family,  if  it  is  united,  is  a  little  garrison; 
and  we  have  been  fortunate.  No  deaths  or  serious  illness, 
and  that  is  wonderful,  as  there  are  so  many  of  us.  Troubles 
which  can  be  concealed  are  lightened." 

She  interpreted  correctly  his  last  remark  as  produced  by 
recollection  of  the  overt  misfortune  of  Esther's  conduct. 
Whether  he  regarded  it  as  a  disgrace,  she  longed  to  know; 
it  seemed  to  her  that  she  could  not  bear  to  know  that  he 
did  so  regard  it.  Hearing  him  speak  thus  of  the  family 
happiness,  which  she  had  helped  to  mar,  m?de  her  tremu- 
8  103 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

lous;    and   one   of  her   particular   superstitions   was   also 
touched. 

"Will  you  not  rap  on  the  fence?  It  is  convenient  to 
you,"  she  said. 

"Rap  on  the  fence?  Oh!  You  think  that  because  I 
mention  our  immunity,  the  bad  spirits  will  come  to  break 
our  luck,  and  you  want  me  to  frighten  them  away  by 
striking  wood  ?  Heilig  luck  has  become  a  proverb." 

"You  call  them  very  rashly." 

He  rapped  the  fence-rail  three  times,  with  the  vigor  of 
one  unpractised  in  the  incantation,  and  said  the  word 
which  should  scatter  the  bad  spirits.  This  feminine  timor- 
ousness  pleased  him. 

"There  are  three  Heilig  brothers  in  my  father's  genera- 
tion, and  three  in  mine,"  he  continued  his  effort. 

"You  must  have  much  in  common." 

"Less  than  you  would  think.  We  are  very  different, 
and  father's  planning  of  our  lives  increased  those  differ- 
ences. I  have  heard  mother  say  that  before  Antony  came 
into  the  world  he  was  intended  for  the  land — so  she  ex- 
pressed it — not  the  land  for  him;  I  was  to  be  a  preacher; 
and  by  the  time  Jesse  arrived  the  mill  was  ready.  So 
Antony  was  not  sent  away  at  all,  I  was  away  year  after 
year,  and  Jesse  stayed  as  long  as  he  pleased,  and  came 
home  when  he  had  had  enough.  It  gives  us  different  views 
of  things." 

"You  have  the  careers  you  would  choose,  however? 
You  are  all  satisfied  ?" 

"It  seems  so  to  you  ?" 

"It  is  hard  for  a  stranger  to  know.  Your  brother  Jesse 
says  much,  your  brother  Antony  nothing;  neither  one  is 
a  transparent  character." 

104 


TWO    VERNAL    PHILOSOPHERS 

"Antony  has  always  been  what  you  see  him:  he  always 
liked  to  wander  off  by  himself.  He  knows  the  productive 
power  of  every  foot  of  land  in  the  Thai,  as  if  the  earth  in- 
formed him  of  her  intentions;  and  he  foretells  the  weather 
like  a  savage.  When  I  was  a  little  chap  my  greatest  pleas- 
ure was  to  go  fishing  with  him.  It  was  not  often  that  he 
would  have  me;  and  he  was  an  expert  from  the  start,  and 
brought  home  trout  that  had  mocked  old  fishermen.  With 
his  fish-basket  and  big  boots,  pushing  among  the  rocks  and 
under  thick  pine-trees,  down  the  middle  of  a  trout-stream — 
there  Antony  looks  at  home. 

"Compared  with  him,  Jesse  and  I  are  quite  delicately 
constituted;  but  he  is  quiet,  and  never  made  trouble  for 
any  one  but  once.  He  was  about  sixteen  then,  and  he 
was  sitting  in  the  bar-room  of  the  hotel  nearest  our  house 
on  a  Saturday  night.  He  had  not  had  a  drop — he  said  so — 
but  there  was  a  big  loafer  there,  twenty  years  old  and  half 
a  head  taller,  who  had  had  enough  to  make  him  quarrel- 
some. This  fellow  took  it  ill  that  Antony  sat  there  so  still 
and  looked  at  him — and  there  is  something  to  be  said  on 
that  point,  for  I  have  seen  Antony  look  at  a  man  as  if  he 
had  better  hide  in  a  mouse-hole;  and  he  called  Antony 
'Loppes'  first,  and  then  'Schwarzer  Neger.'  It  takes 
Antony  awhile  to  get  into  action,  and  I  imagine  that  he 
was  preparing  to  begin  when  the  loafer  was  still  more 
imprudent,  and  threw  a  beer-glass  at  him,  which  cut  his 
head.  I  have  always  regretted  that  I  did  not  see  what 
followed.  More  than  one  full-grown  man  was  needed  to 
detach  him,  and  the  fellow  was  almost  choked  to  death. 
All  that  Antony  said  to  him  was,  'To-morrow  you  will  be 
blacker  than  I  am.  If  such  an  occasion  arises  again,  I 
will  finish  the  job.'  Father  heard  from  all  sides  that 

105 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

he    fought    like    a    bulldog ;    and    father    was    not    dis- 
pleased." 

"Was  not  Jesse  pleased  too?" 

"You  have  noticed  our  family  love-affair?" 

"That  at  least  is  plain  enough." 

"Her  eldest  has  always  been  mother's  favorite,  but  I 
doubt  if  she  feels  well  acquainted  with  him;  and  as  for  me 
— well,  he  talks  to  no  one :  I  think  that  he  cannot;  but  Jesse 
seems  to  understand  him  without  talking.  When  he  was 
a  baby  he  began  to  run  after  Antony  like  a  little  dog,  and 
Antony  allowed  it." 

Bertha  had  been  unable  to  understand  the  general  pre- 
occupation with  the  dark  hero,  who  seemed  to  her  to  be 
little  better  than  a  savage;  and  she  suspected  that  he  was 
honored  for  qualities  attributed  to  him.  As  she  divined 
how  Jonathan  was  eclipsed,  and  saw  the  sweet  temper 
with  which  he  accepted  subordination,  her  value  of  him 
grew.  She  took  courage  to  introduce  the  subject  that 
was  distressing  her,  in  the  hope  that  he  would  put  it  into 
such  a  light  that  she  could  feel  less  guilty. 

"You  have  been  free  from  ordinary  calamities — I  am 
truly  glad;  but  your  sister  is  no  longer  here,  and  I  am 
afraid  that  that  is  a  great  sorrow." 

Her  hope  of  extenuation  disappeared  when  she  saw  his 
instant  depression. 

"It  is,  especially  to  my  father.  He  never  speaks  of  it. 
Unhappily,  she  is  not  the  only  child  who  disappoints  him." 

Jonathan  was  very  near  a  confidence,  which  he  deferred 
because  he  had  an  opportunity  to  do  the  one  thing  prefer- 
able. As  they  walked  he  had  only  a  side  view  of  her;  and 
now  she  stopped,  resting  a  hand  on  the  fence,  and  seeming 
to  intermit  her  personality  in  a  long  gaze  across  the  country. 

1 06 


TWO    VERNAL    PHILOSOPHERS 

While  he  could  look  fully  at  her  there  was  nothing  that  he 
desired  to  say,  but  he  had  to  do  something  for  her,  es- 
pecially when  he  perceived,  from  his  inspection  and  the 
latest  tone  of  her  voice,  that  she  was  in  some  present  trouble. 
In  the  field  behind  them  was  a  chestnut-tree  with  a  stone 
under  it;  and  by  way  of  sheltering  her  in  the  shade  he 
began  to  take  down  the  bars.  The  service  was  signifi- 
cant to  both  of  them.  He  would  have  been  glad  to  hew 
down  trees  or  displace  rocks  on  this  occasion:  and  his 
eagerness  exalted  Bertha,  placing  her  in  the  class  that  is 
fought  for  and  bestows  rewards,  to  which  women  secretly 
aspire.  Unconsciously  she  aspired  more  than  most:  she 
craved  predominance;  such  homage  she  found  sweet. 
Simple  as  the  situation  was,  it  gathered  emotional  intensity 
until  their  own  self-consciousness  abashed  the  sensitive 
pair.  The  chestnut-tree  became  a  goal,  and  they  hastened 
to  talk  trivially.  Both  were  glad  to  have  some  one  to  speak 
to  freely,  and  to  hear. 

"I  have  not  even  begun  a  piece  of  fancy-work  since  I 
came  to  your  house,  and  I  used  to  do  so  much.  My  mother 
did  beautiful  work :  knitting  and  crocheting  and  lace-making 
and  drawn-work  and  embroidery.  You  would  have  thought 
that  every  piece  was  the  prettiest  until  you  saw  the  next." 

"You  can  do  all  those  kinds  too,  can't  you  ?"  Though 
he  did  not  know  enough  about  the  subject  to  phrase  it  in 
detail,  he  implied  confidence  in  her  ability. 

"Yes,  but  not  nearly  so  well  as  she  did.  She  taught  me 
all  the  kinds  she  knew  except  one  very  difficult  lace.  She 
was  teaching  me  that;  but  it  was  so  hard  that  one  day, 
when  I  had  been  trying  for  about  an  hour  and  a  half,  and 
made  nothing  but  mistakes,  I  caught  up  the  big  scissors 
and  cut  it  all  to  pieces!" 

107 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

She  was  ashamed,  Jonathan  was  delighted.  "Go  on," 
he  said.  "What  happened  next?" 

"I  did  not  know  how  I  was  to  be  punished,  and  I  seemed 
to  have  lost  acquaintance  with  myself.  I  waited;  she  took 
no  notice;  and  I  felt  worse  and  worse.  Then  she  said, 
'You  may  put  away  the  needle  and  the  remains,  Bertha,' 
and  I  took  them  away,  myself,  too,  and  hid  in  a  closet  and 
cried.  I  was  thirteen.  After  that  my  mother  taught  me 
to  do  many  things,  but  neither  one  of  us  ever  said  a  word 
about  that  lace." 

"It  is  a  mystery  to  a  man  how  a  woman  can  be  content 
to  sit  still  hour  after  hour  and  run  a  needle  in  and  out  in 
little  stitches." 

"It  is  a  great  pleasure  to  make  something  pretty  from 
useless  scraps;  and  to  watch  a  beautifully  colored  flower  or 
a  fine  lace  pattern  grow  under  the  fingers  is  a  pleasure,  too. 
The  woman  is  creating  then." 

"You  and  Aunt  Henny  would  enjoy  talking  to  each 
other.  You  almost  persuade  me  that  sewing  is  good  for 
the  soul." 

"It  is."  Bertha  proceeded  with  spirit  to  explain  the 
resource  of  many  inarticulate  women.  "Every  material 
has  its  difficulties  to  overcome;  and  that  is  not  all.  While 
we  lived  on  the  mountain  I  made  a  creditable  bedroom 
set:  covers  for  the  bed,  pillows,  wash-stand,  and  bureau, 
with  a  pattern  of  grapes  and  leaves,  and  each  leaf  and 
grape  padded  and  stitched.  It  took  me  months  to  do,  and 
I  worked  at  it  when  I  thought  that  I  could  not  get  through 
the  day  without  seeing — those  whom  I  could  not  see.  The 
needle  is  a  good  companion.  The  thread  moves  through 
the  fingers,  and  one  is  peaceful." 

He  reflected  that  a  woman  who  found  supports  to  char- 

108 


TWO    VERNAL    PHILOSOPHERS 

acter  in  such  a  neutral  process  would  judge  and  act  in 
accordance  with  immaterial  standards  of  her  own.  By 
this  time  they  had  reached  the  rock  in  the  spot  of  shade, 
and  he  placed  her  on  it,  and  his  analysis  was  forgotten  for 
the  falling  of  the  leaf-shadows  on  her  face  and  throat. 
The  leaves  were  turned  by  the  wind;  so  were  the  vari- 
colored spots  in  the  grass,  which  were  really  flowers;  and 
the  branches  of  the  young  wild-cherry-trees  along  the  road 
waved  nimbly  up  and  down.  The  sun  was  almost  as  in- 
sistent as  in  midsummer.  He  poured  himself  inexhausti- 
bly, joyously,  upon  the  fields,  so  dazzling  that  he  made 
mortals  dreamy.  From  the  simultaneous  traversing  with 
their  eyes  of  that  resplendent  plain  the  two  derived  a  feel- 
ing of  unity.  Together  they  searched  the  distances  with 
the  varying  intensities  of  blue;  together  they  watched  a 
bobolink,  in  courting  garb  of  black  and  white,  and  igno- 
rant of  mortality;  the  millinery-like  freshness  of  the  foliage, 
the  swarm  of  butterflies,  fluttering  in  a  manner  only  rational 
when  judged  by  their  own  aims,  were  pleasant  to  both. 
The  green  and  blue  landscape,  so  full  of  vernal  motion, 
became  phantasmagorical;  the  pressure  of  reality  lightened; 
the  hour  dissolved  their  reticences,  and  taught  them  refine- 
ments which  they  had  not  known. 

"What  are  you  thinking?"  Jonathan  besought. 

Softly,  with  self-revelation  almost  nuptial,  she  responded, 
"That  here  the  Lord  God  lingered  over  his  work." 

"And  that  we  have  received  much  ?" 

"Yes.  The  constant  things:  the  sky,  the  earth,  and  the 
memories  of  the  saints." 

"At  our  first  meeting  we  spoke  of  the  hills." 

Jonathan  thought  of  that  meeting  and  its  consequences. 
Now  he  was  aware  of  them:  he  knew  that  her  presence  had 

109 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

determined  him,  and  he  exulted  in  her  decisive  beauty. 
He  dwelt  upon  her;  the  caress  of  his  glance  encompassed 
her,  though  he  could  not  have  interpreted  what  he  saw. 
She  was  likely  to  prove  just  as  high  as  more  than  one  heart; 
and  she  wore  with  sylvan  alertness  a  body  that  afforded 
her  spirit  a  nearly  perfect  instrument.  There  was  nothing 
restless  about  her  except  the  changing  color  of  her  eyes, 
in  which  could  be  seen  the  mysterious  antitheses  of  long 
solitude.  It  seemed  not  too  much  to  hope  that  she  could 
call  the  summer. 

"Do  you  ever  think  about  dreams?"  she  said.  "While 
we  lived  on  the  mountain  I  had  the  strangest  dreams,  and 
some  of  them  repeated  themselves  until  it  seemed  as  if 
they  must  have  an  important  meaning.  The  most  frequent 
one  war  that  I  could  fly,  and  I  have  flown  miles  through 
air  as  clear  as  this.  I  had  no  wings.  I  was  able  to  rise 
and  maintain  my  course  only  by  believing  that  I  could; 
and  if  I  ceased  to  believe,  I  would  fall.  It  happened  so 
often  that  it  is  almost  Bible  to  me." 

Again  he  thought  from  what  unpractical  sources  she  fed 
her  character,  and  how  difficult,  to  such  an  impressionable 
creature,  her  habitual  composure  must  be.  He  could 
sympathize  with  her  because  he  knew  that  he  was  regarded 
by  his  own  father  as  a  reasoner  from  unreal  bases;  and  he 
was  touched  by  her  confiding.  It  seemed  that  she,  who 
had  so  influenced  him,  had  known  only  sorrow,  needle- 
work, and  dreams. 

"What  has  made  your  life?"  he  asked,  scarcely  aware 
that  he  spoke. 

"My  parents,  my  two  brothers,  and  my  sister." 
"Were  not  your  father  and  mother  educated  people  ?" 
"My  father  had  a  diploma,  and  my  mother  came  from 

no 


TWO    VERNAL    PHILOSOPHERS 

the  city.  Both  of  them  spoke  English  and  High  German 
well,"  she  replied,  rather  proudly. 

Although  he  wanted  to  hear  more,  he  hesitated  about 
asking;  she  felt  his  interest,  and  said  more. 

"My  sister  married  and  went  away,  and  she  died  with 
her  baby.  A  fever  took  my  elder  brother.  My  younger 
brother  was  caught  in  the  machinery  with  which  he  worked. 
All  this  was  in  ten  months.  Then  my  mother  could  live 
no  longer.  My  father  had  been  in  ill-health  before,  and 
he  could  not  continue  his  teaching,  so  we  came  to  the 
mountain.  Then  he  left  me,  too." 

"That  was  a  terrible  series." 

Now  that  he  knew  from  what  grief  she  had  taken  refuge 
in  her  airy  philosophy,  he  was  touched  still  more.  He 
asked: 

"For  what  are  you  waiting  ?  Your  eyes  never  lose  their 
expectant  look." 

"I  do  not  know,"  she  said,  unconsciously  acknowledging 
the  expectation. 

She  lowered  her  eyelids,  with  an  effect  of  exclusion 
peculiar  to  her,  and  decisive  as  the  closing  of  a  door; 
and  he  felt  himself  turned  out;  but  it  could  not  be  for  long. 
The  approach  of  their  two  spirits  was  like  the  reciprocal 
pressure  of  air-waves  and  water-waves,  imperceptibly 
tumultuous. 

"You  have  done  a  great  deal  of  thinking,"  he  said. 

"During  those  long  days  and  nights  upon  the  mountain, 
what  could  I  do  but  think  ?" 

"On  the  whole,  what  do  you  think  ?" 

With  a  grave  smile — for  she  was  pleased  with  the  crypti- 
cal  form  of  his  question,  and  pleased  to  have  understood  it 
— she  answered:  "I  think  that,  as  it  is  in  everyone's  power 

in 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

to  be  a  great  person,  so  it  is  not  dignified  to  be  earnest  about 
insignificant  things.  Not  many  of  them  are  worthy  of  our 
pursuit." 

She  was  acquiring  more  and  more  authority  with  him. 
In  the  soft,  propitious  silence  the  moment  of  confidence 
could  be  deferred  no  longer.  Jonathan  must  submit  his 
judgment  to  her;  it  was  a  way  of  laying  himself  at  her  feet. 

His  beginning  was  abrupt,  with  a  destructive  string  of 
negatives:  "Esther  is  not  the  only  one  to  disappoint  my 
father.  It  is  not  the  case  that  we  all  have  the  careers  which 
we  should  choose.  You  do  not  know  what  my  presence 
here  means.  I  should  have  been  a  minister,  as  I  told  you; 
but  that  is  past.  When  I  came  home,  on  the  day  when  I 
saw  you  for  the  first  time,  it  was  to  settle  the  matter,  which 
I  had  been  arguing  with  myself  for  almost  two  years.  I 
have  told  my  father  that  I  cannot  do  what  he  desires,  and 
he  has  closed  the  subject  between  us.  I  think  his  idea  is 
that  if  I  am  left  to  myself  I  shall  see  it  differently,  but  I 
cannot  see  it  differently.  Now,  say,  what  should  I  do  ?" 

He  left  the  matter  in  her  hands,  with  confidence  that  was 
even  pathetic.  The  tropical  brightness  of  his  face,  which 
he  turned  toward  her,  recalled  his  vivid,  struggling  look 
when  she  had  first  seen  him;  exultantly  she  said  to  herself 
that  he  was  stronger  than  she. 

"He  does  not  speak  of  it?"  she  asked. 

"No.  That  was  always  his  way  with  us.  I  have  never 
seen  him  angry  enough  to  speak  out.  If  he  does  not  do 
so  soon,  I  must." 

"Then  he  cannot  be  very  angry  now." 

"What  should  I  do?" 

Diverse  sympathies — but  all  with  Jonathan — perplexed 
her:  with  his  rebellion,  which  was  an  effort  toward  his 

112 


TWO    VERNAL    PHILOSOPHERS 

own  vision  of  perfection;  with  his  correcting  fear  of  doing 
wrong.  Timidly  she  said: 

"If  you  wait  awhile  longer,  it  may  right  itself;  at  least, 
if  it  does  not,  you  will  have  tried." 

"Yes,  yes.  With  the  best  intentions,  how  hard  it  is  to 
walk  straight  through  the  world." 

"Hard;  but  is  there  a  greater  pleasure  than  the  meeting 
of  difficulties  ?  They  enable  us  to  show  that  to  be  human 
is  not  mean.  Oh,  I  have  done  wrong,  and  I  wish  to  atone; 
and  I  have  had  much  sorrow,  you  have  said  it  yourself,  and 
I  have  held  to  what  my  father  used  to  say,  that  sorrow  and 
doubt  of  our  own  actions,  and  even  the  energy  of  forbidden 
impulses,  may  be  put  to  use  if  we  are  clear  about  our  pur- 
poses. Could  I  not  fly,  in  my  dreams,  by  believing  that 
I  could  ?" 

"  In  what,  then,  does  our  dignity  consist  ?" 

"In  not  lying  down  among  circumstances.  In  striving 
— and  striving." 

Her  voice  had  an  invigorating  clearness  almost  harsh; 
from  that  dynamic  enthusiasm  she  subsided  slowly.  Hav- 
ing never  yet  contended  with  her  own  best  qualities,  the 
poor  girl  believed  that  she  could  go  through  the  world  as 
blameless  as  she  desired  to  be. 

Jonathan  expressed  his  participation  only  by  his  eyes. 
He  felt  the  essential  impermanence  of  her  pose:  she  had 
placed  herself  too  high.  But  his  thought  was  the  thought 
of  a  lover  of  another  age  and  loving  in  another  language: 

"Howsoe'er  the  fall  might  be, 
Would  I  were  aloft  with  thee!" 

Delicate  moment!  Such  as  the  cautious  gods  will  not 
prolong! 

"3 


IX 

ANTONY  LIES  AWAKE 

IT  was  stirring  weather.  The  creek,  which  was  not  as 
low  as  was  usual  at  the  end  of  June,  made  cool  noises 
on  its  way  through  the  woods.  Still  unimpaired  by  heat, 
the  foliage  and  the  grass  displayed  the  greens  and  blues  of 
marbles  and  copper  compounds,  as  they  were  seen  near 
by  or  far  away.  Many  humming-birds  combated  around 
Susanna's  trumpet-vines;  wild  strawberries  along  the  road 
retarded  children  on  their  errands,  and  all  the  hay  was 
cut.  Not  only  was  Job's  mow  packed  full,  but  five  large 
stacks  formed  a  wind-break  along  the  east  wall  of  the  barn. 
Now  the  wheat  claimed  attention  by  growing  yellower  with 
every  hot,  bright  hour,  and  spreading  tawny  expanses  under 
a  sky  so  remotely,  gloriously  blue  as  to  compel  a  human 
being  to  envy  the  busy  birds  their  proper  element. 

At  this  season  Antony's  was  the  dominant  presence  in 
the  Thai.  He  was  in  Nature's  confidence;  although  Job 
gave  the  orders,  it  was  after  consultation  with  him,  and  he 
executed  them.  He  worked  day  in  and  day  out,  and  he 
was  a  fine  sight  in  the  hay-field,  with  his  shirt  open  across 
his  sweating  breast,  and  his  hat  pulled  over  his  far-seeing 
eyes.  The  arms  that  swung  the  scythe  so  lightly  appeared 
to  be  made  of  bronze;  the  strong  feet  moved  and  braced 
as  if  the  earth  taxed  them  not  at  all.  In  his  taciturnity 

114 


ANTONY    LIES    AWAKE 

and  molar  force  there  was  something  not  exactly  human. 
He  was  rather  like  a  genius  who  might  be  summoned  by 
the  rubbing  of  a  magic  lamp  or  ring. 

He  had  taken  to  wandering  about  at  nightfall  alone, 
and  confiding  his  direction  to  no  one;  and,  geniuslike,  he 
drifted  through  the  dusk.  So  he  appeared  out  of  it  one 
evening,  at  the  hour  when  colors  are  rather  known  than 
seen,  and  sat  on  the  front  porch,  beside  Jesse.  The  latter 
had  been  there  for  some  time,  making  researches  among 
last  year's  walnuts  with  a  little  hammer,  and  observing  the 
movements  of  the  family  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye. 

"You  do  not  get  much  for  your  trouble,"  said  Antony, 
referring  to  some  unsatisfactory  fragments  in  Jesse's  hand, 
but  with  a  universal  application. 

"No.  Oh  no.  These  poor  things  were  first  hoarded, 
and  then  forgotten.  I  suppose  they  pay  as  well  as  any- 
thing." 

"A  stranger  who  heard  you  would  take  you  for  a  worn- 
out  old  man.  Where  is  Jonathan  ?" 

"Walked  toward  the  Himmelberg.  This  is  hard  on 
him." 

"What?" 

"It  is  over  three  months  since  he  came  home,  and  father 
pays  no  more  attention  to  his  wishes  for  his  own  future 
than  if  he  were  a  small  boy.  Not  only  does  he  not  know 
what  he  shall  do  next.  How  it  belittles  him  as  a  man!  I 
wonder  what  will  come  of  it  ?" 

"That  depends  on  whose  patience  gives  out  first." 

"  It  will  not  be  father  who  gives  out  first,  we  may  be  sure. 
Jonathan  was  always  headlong.  See  how  he  came  rush- 
ing home,  and  made  his  declaration  of  independence  over 
at  Aunt  Kenny's.  He  showed  no  management  whatever; 

"5 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

and  he  will  worry  himself  into  another  such  move  soon,  or 
I  am  much  mistaken.  There  is  Esther,  too.  Father  has 
allowed  her  to  pass  away  from  us,  and  I  never  thought 
that  she  was  in  the  wrong.  It  would  be  a  good  thing  if 
you  quietly  took  a  hand  in  her  case  and  in  Jonathan's." 

"How?" 

"Lead  father  to  open  the  subject,  and  persuade  him  to 
be  kind  to  her,  and  to  give  him  a  proper  place  here  at  home." 

"It  is  not  my  business  to  persuade  father.  He  knows 
what  he  wants  to  do  with  his  own,  and  he  has  the  right 
to  do  it;  and  if  we  elect  to  run  counter  to  him,  we  ought 
to  be  willing  to  take  the  consequences.  As  time  goes  on, 
and  they  are  all  three  less  earnest  in  their  opinions,  we  shall 
gradually  be  as  we  were,  without  disturbance." 

"You  are  wrong.  We  shall  never  be  as  we  were;  and 
I  tell  you,  more  is  coming.  Father  will  follow  his  policy 
once  too  often." 

Antony  rose  with  a  disclaiming  gesture,  and  took  himself 
away;  and  Jesse,  intelligent  and  troubled,  watched  him  as 
far  as  he  could  see  him  on  the  road.  Not  having  heard 
Bertha  come  out,  he  started  when  he  beheld  her  leaning 
against  a  pillar  of  the  porch.  As  he  looked  up  at  her,  a 
peculiarity  of  his  countenance  was  conspicuous:  the  fleshi- 
ness of  the  outer,  upper  part  of  the  orbits  gave  him  an 
expression  of  gayety  holding  aloof. 

"That  black-and-white  dress  is  calico,  but  it  makes  us 
notice  her  and  not  itself,"  he  thought.  "The  pillar  also 
has  just  learned  what  it  is  made  for.  And  there  is  that 
hair  again.  Ah!" 

She  was  absorbed  in  watching  the  beauty  of  the  valley 
in  evening  light,  distinguished  by  the  little  moon.  To  an 
exclamation  from  her,  he  answered  in  a  queer  way  he  had: 

116 


ANTONY    LIES    AWAKE 

remaining  silent  until  the  exclaimer  had  given  up  hope, 
and  then  replying  as  if  he  had  just  been  wakened,-  but 
when  she  began  to  move  off  the  porch,  he  said,  imperatively, 
"Go  toward  the  north." 

"Toward  the  Blaueberg?     Why?" 

"If  I  were  a  girl,  and  wanted  to  take  a  walk  to-night,  I 
should  go  toward  the  Blaueberg." 

"  But  why  ?" 

"Because  I  would,"  he  replied,  in  exasperation;  and 
seemed  to  seclude  his  attention  among  the  nuts. 

Without  further  question  she  went  laughing  in  the  di- 
rection commanded;  she  should  have  felt  the  glittering 
intelligence  of  the  pursuing  eyes.  He  was  thinking: 

"When  Jonathan  walks  south  and  Antony  north,  on  such 
a  night  as  this,  you  will  either  walk  north  or  stay  at  home." 

As  she  went  on  the  moon  grew  brighter,  and  the  wind 
brought  evening  perfumes  from  the  fields.  She  felt  no 
physical  discords,  and  was  able  to  draw  from  the  common 
blisses  of  the  hour  assurance  that  what  was  before  her 
would  be  better  than  what  was  past:  she  was  happy.  She 
did  not  know  from  what  quarter  Antony  appeared,  but 
suddenly  he  was  wandering  by  her  side,  with  hardly  any 
greeting.  This  was  the  first  time  that  she  had  known  him 
to  seek  companionship;  and  it  was  hard  to  believe  that  he 
sought  it  now,  he  made  such  short  answers  to  her  perfunctory 
speeches.  Presently  she  chose  her  path  as  if  she  were  alone, 
looking  at  the  sky  again,  and  merely  allowing  him  to  be 
beside  her  if  he  would.  Unhappily  there  was  no  way  for 
either  of  the  two  to  estimate  the  importance  of  the  interview 
to  the  other. 

When  he  was  quite  ready,  however — after  preparations 
which  she  dreamed  not  of — he  began  of  himself. 

117 


HEARTS   CONTENDING 

"I  have  something  serious  to  say  to  you." 

"What  is  it?" 

"I  am  a  poor  talker.  Do  you  prefer  to  be  spoken  to 
short  and  plain,  as  one  sensible  person  to  another,  or  are 
you  like  other  women,  so  that  I  must  use  many  words  ?" 

"What  do  you  want  to  say  ?" 

Looking  at  her  in  a  way  that  any  woman  might  have 
envied,  he  answered,  "You  must  take  me  for  your  husband." 

The  statement  was  so  remote  from  every  preconception 
in  her  mind  that  it  conveyed  nothing  to  her.  She  asked 
him  to  repeat,  and  waited  in  some  excitement;  and  he  did 
repeat.  Then  she  said  no  word;  but  she  looked  up  into  his 
face  as  she  would  have  looked  down  at  the  ground  if  it  had 
begun  to  roll  from  under  her. 

"Will  you?" 

She  saw  that  he  put  the  question  as  a  formality,  thinking 
the  thing  as  good  as  done,  and  it  enraged  her;  so  she  an- 
swered now,  in  a  sweet  little  voice: 

"Why  should  I  marry  you  ?" 

"Why  should  you  not  ?" 

"So?" 

"  It  must  be.  Try  to  understand  that  first.  Now  I  will 
say  more.  You  know  that  I  am  the  eldest  son,  and  head 
man  in  the  Thai.  I  can  take  good  care  of  you  at  once,  and 
later  there  will  be  no  woman  in  six  townships  so  well  off  as 
you.  Also,  you  will  have  a  father  and  a  mother,  sisters  and 
brothers,  and  the  friendship  of  every  Heilig  in  the  county." 
Her  rigorous  face  softened.  "And  there  is  nothing  that  I 
will  not  give  you;  there  is  nothing  that  I  will  not  do  for  you. 
Will  you  marry  me  next  week  ?" 

"No." 

"The  week  after?" 

118 


ANTONY    LIES   AWAKE 

"No." 

"  I  will  wait  no  more  than  two  weeks.     Be  sure  of  that." 

"You  need  not  wait  for  me  two  minutes.  It  will  be 
equally  useless,  however  long  you  wait." 

"You  think  that  you  will  not  marry  me.  You  are 
mistaken." 

"I  am  not." 

"  What  must  I  do  to  please  you  ?" 

"Nothing." 

"It  would  be  a  pity  if  you  became  my  wife  without  liking 
me.  You  must  try  to  like  me.  It  will  be  much  better  for 
you." 

"Are  you  crazy?     I  tell  you  again,  I  will  not." 

"And  I  tell  you  again,  you  shall." 

They  halted,  glaring  at  each  other.  She  wanted  to  strike 
him,  but  she  foresaw  how  he  would  enjoy  the  blow,  and  what 
would  follow  it. 

"  Listen,"  he  said.  "  I  must  have  begun  wrong;  it  seemed 
to  me  best  to  say  plainly  what  I  mean.  I  desire  to  do  the 
right  thing,  however,  and  I  ask  you  earnestly  to  listen.  My 
father  has  strange  ways  with  his  children.  He  makes  plans 
for  them,  and  if  they  follow,  good;  if  not,  he  starves  them 
out.  I  have  followed;  and  in  spite  of  that  I  starve;  and  no 
one  knows.  Here  in  the  Thai  is  not  room  for  me;  here  in 
the  country  is  no  place  for  me.  I  need — " 

He  paused,  with  a  horrible  gesture,  as  if  he  would  pluck 
something  wasted  from  himself  and  show  it  to  her,  and  his 
speech  was  dammed  up.  She  knew  that  she  was  hearing 
what  no  human  being  had  yet  heard. 

"And  now  you  come,  and  I  can  no  longer  bear  myself. 
After  dark  I  walk  around  your  house,  and  ride  up  and  down 
your  road.  There  I  passed  Saul  and  Esther  on  the  night 
9  119 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

when  they  got  away,  and  I  did  not  stop  them  because  I 
knew  how  he  felt.  I  could  even  sympathize  with  that  dis- 
gusting business.  I  am  another  man,  and  I  get  no  rest. 
Night  and  day,  in  the  fields,  in  the  twilight,  in  my  bed, 
I  see  you  just  beyond  my  finger-tips.  It  is  enough  to  drive 
a  man  out  of  himself;  and  in  this  weather!  To  stay  here  I 
have  endured,  but  this  and  that  I  will  not  endure.  You  are 
for  me,  Bertha  Lieb." 

He  stammered  in  his  effort  to  describe  his  obsession. 
Appalled  by  the  contrast  between  his  tortured  looks  and  the 
majestic  suavity  of  his  movements  by  her  side,  she  said,  with 
commiseration:  "Stay  no  longer.  Why  should  you  stay?" 

There  was  something  Psalm-like  in  his  self-revelation 
and  frank  appeal.  "The  Thai  is  far  too  easy  for  me;  until 
now  I  have  stayed  for  my  father's  sake.  His  life  is  all  here, 
and  he  is  getting  on  in  years,  and  needs  a  head  man.  Still, 
I  must  have  a  life  for  myself,  one  way  or  another,  here  or 
elsewhere;  though  were  I  elsewhere,  I  should,  no  doubt,  be 
laughed  at,  because  I  have  not  the  education  of  Jonathan, 
Saul,  and  Jesse.  I  have  been  brought  up  for  the  Thai,  not 
for  the  world  outside." 

Ardor  did  not  appeal  to  ardor  quite  in  vain,  and  she  was 
glad  for  this  diversion.  Although  she  could  not  withhold 
all  admiration  from  him,  and  although  his  insistence,  like 
Jonathan's  deference,  placed  her  in  the  ruling  class,  yet  she 
occupied  the  interval  with  the  calm  thought  that  she  must 
leave  the  Thai.  She  did  not  know  where  to  go,  but  she 
accepted  Antony's  temperament  as  an  obstacle  like  any  other 
conformation  of  nature. 

The  interval  was  brief,  and  ended  with  a  shock — only  a 
look,  but  so  steady,  fierce,  and  longing.  Though  he  saw 
nothing  but  her,  the  environment  affected  him  without  his 

120 


ANTONY    LIES    AWAKE 

knowing:  it  was  like  accompanying  her  through  her  proper 
world,  to  walk  beside  her  thus  in  the  dusk,  with  the  stars 
hanging  low.  Late  as  it  was,  a  cat-bird  snarled  in  an  elder- 
berry bush,  and  as  they  passed  over  the  roadside  turf,  they 
trod  upon  small,  unimportant  flowers. 

"  Now  I  have  explained  it  to  you,"  said  he.  "  I  await  your 
yes." 

"No." 


She  had  a  pang  of  pity  for  him.  Truly  piteous  was  this 
waste  of  creative  passion  —  as  the  sinking  of  gold  in  deep 
water  or  the  spilling  of  wine  upon  sand  is  piteous.  Also, 
she  respected  the  energy  which  so  desired  and  demanded. 
She  felt  very  humble  before  him  in  her  refusal;  but  he  only 
saw  that  she  gazed  at  him  with  an  enraging  aloofness  —  as 
if  she  deigned  to  wrestle  with  him,  like  the  angel  with  Jacob, 
and  might  at  any  moment  spread  her  wings  and  soar.  Then 
he  got  beyond  her,  catching  her  wrist,  and  exclaiming, 
"You  shall  not  shut  me  out  with  those  white  eyelids!" 

Enraged  by  his  lack  of  discipline,  she  retreated  as  far  as 
the  locked  hands  would  let  her.  "Sei  ruhig,  jreundlich 
Element,"  she  would  have  said,  but  it  was  now  too  late: 
the  situation  was  too  elemental.  Night  was  so  near  that  she 
saw  him  all  black;  and  simultaneously  there  came  upon  her 
a  breeze  that  had  passed  over  a  honeysuckle,  and  the 
unmerciful  pressure  of  his  arms.  It  was  as  though  some- 
thing sprang  upon  her  —  something  duplex,  formidable  both 
to  body  and  to  will.  She  tried  to  wrench  herself  away; 
there  was  a  wild  moment  between  the  two  powerful  creat- 
ures; and  she  heard  his  breathing,  and  felt  his  hard  lips 
upon  her  wrist,  upon  her  palm,  as  if  he  drank. 

She  pulled  herself  free,  and  went  flying  along  the  road. 

121 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

As  he  shouted,  "  Bertha !  Bertha !"  he  saw  her  run  faster  at 
the  sound  of  his  voice;  so,  instead  of  following  her,  he  went 
north,  and  the  woods  harbored  him.  He  walked  far;  he 
prowled  around  her  home.  To  do  this  had  been  something 
to  him  once,  but  now  nothing  less  than  herself  could  solace 
him.  Late  in  the  night  he  came  padding  down  the  moun- 
tain, and  found  the  house  all  quiet,  and  went  in  and  laid 
himself  upon  his  bed. 

He  was  tired,  but  he  could  no  more  sleep  than  could  a 
cataract.  Although  in  her  presence  he  was  unable  to  speak 
as  he  would — could  never  speak  as  he  would — he  poured 
himself  out  now,  wordlessly  and  at  long  intervals,  to  her, 
who  seemed  to  stand  beside  him  in  the  moonlight,  whose 
voice  he  heard,  even  to  the  finest  tone.  It  was  a  primeval 
epithalamium: 

"You  say  you  will  not,  but  it  must  be.  I  have  not  said 
all,  you  did  not  listen.  I  shall  tell  it  to  you  again,  and  you 
will  see  that  you  must  not  refuse  me.  Perhaps  you  will  ask 
why  ?  It  would  be  like  you.  I  can  think  that  in  heaven 
you  would  ask  *  Why  ?'  But  it  must  be.  Shall  a  man  go 
absolutely  through  the  world,  and  have  nothing  ? 

"Bertha,  you  are  a  woman,  and  higher  than  we,  so  there 
are  things  which  you  cannot  understand.  You  must  learn 
that  when  a  woman  causes  this  for  a  man,  it  is  just  and 
right  that  she  recompense  him.  Otherwise  she  robs  him — • 
his  strength,  his  will  to  work,  his  pleasure  in  the  world — 
she  takes  them  all.  You  would  not  rob  me,  Bertha  ?  When 
I  have  thought  of  it  so  much :  since  the  first  day  of  your 
coming  here  ?  In  the  beginning  I  did  not  know  it  for  what 
it  is,  but  soon  I  knew  that  it  was  my  woman  whom  I  rec- 
ognized, and  since  then  no  hour  has  passed  without  that 
recognition.  Why  do  I  see  your  face  at  every  turn  ?  Why 

122 


ANTONY   LIES    AWAKE 

would  I  pound  to  death  the  man  who  tried  to  take  you  ? 
What  are  they  for — these  miseries — if  you  deny  me  ?  Are 
they  to  be  in  vain  ? 

"And  I  was  so  glad  that  I  could  give  you  a  comfortable 
home! 

"  Won't  you  listen,  Bertha  ?" 

The  logic  of  his  need  quieted  him :  this  thing  would  come 
to  pass  because  to  do  without  it  would  be  unbearable.  After 
a  while  he  slept,  and  woke  not  unpeacefully;  and  he  was  up 
at  dawn,  with  his  mind  full  of  the  two  labors  which  were 
before  him:  the  harvesting  of  the  wheat-crop  and  the  ac- 
quisition of  the  woman. 

The  wheat  was  too  quiescent  for  the  attempters  who  went 
in  procession  toward  it;  they  would  have  advanced  more 
appropriately  to  fight,  three  and  three,  while  hostile  armies 
sat  around.  Antony  walked  first,  then  Jonathan,  then 
Jesse.  By  the  scant  attire  of  cotton  trousers,  cotton  shirts, 
and  broad  straw  hats  the  outline  of  their  muscles  was  dis- 
played; their  uncovered  chests  were  brown;  the  straight  gaze 
of  their  black  eyes  intimidated.  Each  one  carried  over  his 
shoulder  a  cradle  with  wooden  teeth  and  a  long,  efficacious- 
looking  blade;  and  a  festal  feature  was  introduced  by  Jesse, 
who  had  a  red  rosebud  between  his  lips,  and  in  his  hat- 
band a  full-blown  rose.  It  was  no  wonder  that  Susanna 
deserted  her  work  to  stand  on  the  porch  and  watch  them  to 
the  field,  or  that  she  drew  her  eyes  away,  back  to  the  common 
things  of  her  life,  with  a  foreboding  maternal  sadness. 

Shining  in  a  whitish  sky,  the  sun  devoured  the  morning 
mist  which  made  the  distances  pearly.  Streams  of  dew 
from  the  wheat  ran  off  the  blades,  and  the  cut  stalks  smelled 
fresh.  The  reapers  did  not  speak;  they  worked,  not  over- 
rapidly,  with  a  bliss-giving  play  of  muscles,  as  if  in  the  per- 

123 


feet  mechanism  of  their  bodies  no  cog  could  slip,  no  part  be 
weakened.  The  large-featured  faces  were  thoughtful ;  beads 
of  sweat  rimmed  the  steady,  closed  lips.  So  they  kept  at  it 
for  hours.  The  mist  had  disappeared,  the  sun  was  rotund, 
and  a  good  space  had  been  reaped  when  Antony  saw  Bertha 
coming,  bare-headed,  through  the  field  to  bring  them  food. 

He  worked  faster,  for  he  saw  her  not  more  plainly  now 
than  he  had  seen  her  ever  since  she  left  him.  Jesse  threw 
down  his  cradle;  Jonathan  went  to  meet  her,  and  took  her 
burdens;  but  she  preserved  in  her  manner  the  distinction  be- 
tween herself  and  the  master's  sons,  and  waited  gravely  on 
them  all.  Although  the  heat  was  intense,  and  the  men  ate 
little  and  drank  greedily,  they  all  had  a  certain  ardor  in  their 
eyes  which  made  this  heat  seem  proper  to  them.  As  soon 
as  he  had  finished,  Antony  went  back  to  his  reaping.  He 
had  discarded  his  hat,  and  the  sun  sparkled  with  different 
colors  in  his  black  hair,  which  grew  so  thick  and  low  that 
it  was  like  a  cap.  Jesse  rolled  over  in  the  shade  and  slept. 
Jonathan,  his  cradle  in  his  hand,  stood  talking  to  Bertha, 
who  was  ready  to  return  to  the  house.  She  had  not  looked 
at  Antony  once,  and  all  morning  she  had  been  wondering 
where  to  go  when  she  left  the  Thai. 

Although  he  seemed  to  notice  nothing  but  the  grain,  he 
saw  well  the  attitudes  of  those  two;  and  in  the  country 
morning  silence,  which  the  swish  of  his  cradle  and  the  wind 
in  the  trees  intensified,  low  voices  carried  far.  He  heard 
Jonathan  say: 

"  If  you  go,  we  can  drive  anywhere  you  like — over  the 
mountain  or  anywhere." 

"  Thank  you,  I  think  not." 

"We  have  walked  together  five  times.  Why  do  you  re- 
fuse to  drive  with  me  when  you  admit  that  you  like  driving  ?" 

124 


ANTONY    LIES    AWAKE 

"It  is  not  my  place  to  drive  with  you.  Every  woman  in 
your  family  would  tell  you  so." 

"To  such  nonsense  as  that  I  should  not  listen  from  any 
one  but  yourself.  I  hope  that  you  will  not  disappoint  me. 
If  you  do,  I  shall  think  that  you  object  to  me." 

"In  that  case — " 

Antony,  coming  over,  said,  "No,  she  will  not  go." 

His  brother's  angry  astonishment  was  challenge  enough, 
but  the  fatality  was  that  he  saw  the  same  in  Bertha's  eyes. 

"What  have  you  to  say  to  it?"  Jonathan  demanded. 
"Bertha,  answer  for  yourself." 

Too  outraged  to  speak  at  once,  she  looked  from  one  to  the 
other,  as  energic  as  they. 

"She  is  my  woman,  and  she  shall  not  go.  That  is  what 
I  have  to  say  to  it.  What  right  have  you  to  think  of  her  ? 
You  have  nothing  to  keep  her  with." 

"A — ah!"  she  gasped. 

"Is  this  true  ?"  Jonathan  demanded  of  her,  in  a  clutching 
voice.  His  face  was  dark  red. 

"No." 

"Will  you  go  with  me  ?" 

"Look  here,"  said  Antony,  stopping  her.  "I  know  very 
well  that  it  is  not  for  me  to  begin,  because  I  am  three  times 
as  strong  as  you;  but  I  warn  you  that  against  any  man, 
brother  or  no  brother,  and  no  matter  how  delicate,  I  stand 
up  for  my  woman.  You  have  long  been  favored  over  me: 
you  were  the  one  selected  to  go  out  into  the  world  and  make 
a  figure  there;  on  you  was  the  money  spent,  while  I  stayed 
here  and  worked  hard  to  earn  it.  Now  you  come  back, 
and  this  you  will  not,  and  that  you  will  not,  and  the  other 
thing  is  what  you  choose,  and  you  expect  to  oust  me  from  a 
part  of  my  inheritance.  Is  not  that  your  little  idea  ?  You 

'25 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

may,  too;  for  land  and  money  I  care  not  a  swing  of  this 
cradle;  but  keep  away  from  her." 

Bertha  sprang  back,  her  eyes  began  to  glow,  and  she 
stood  utterly  still,  as  Jonathan,  holding  his  cradle  in  both 
hands,  lifted  the  murderous  implement,  and  swung  it  by 
way  of  answer.  It  was  dazzlingly  quick  work,  but  Antony 
was  also  quick  enough.  His  weapon  met  the  other,  and 
they  caught  with  a  terrific  clip  and  ring,  while  the  wooden 
teeth  flew  into  splinters.  There  was  a  stupid  struggle  to 
unlock  them.  It  would  have  been  easier  to  throw  them 
aside  and  go  in  with  fists,  but  both  men  were  too  wild  to  see 
that,  and  they  wrenched  at  the  cradles  and  swung  them 
again,  each  aiming  at  his  brother's  body  with  the  action 
with  which  they  cut  the  grain.  In  three  seconds  there  was 
a  red  gash  on  Jonathan's  cheek.  Another  charge,  and 
Antony's  hand  suffered.  The  two  had  become  animals; 
they  dodged  like  animals,  their  panting  and  clashing  were 
horrible.  The  woman  locked  her  fingers  and  set  her  jaws, 
for  Antony  was  driving  Jonathan  into  the  wheat,  and  at  any 
second  it  might  trip  him — it  waved  so  unconcernedly. 

At  that  moment  Jesse  moved,  sat  up,  looked — then  he 
came  leaping.  Jonathan,  whose  forehead  was  full  of  big 
veins,  was  recovering  his  weapon  from  a  blow.  Antony 
swung  his;  blood-drops  from  his  hand  flew  through  the  air; 
he  landed  it.  He  mowed  down  Jesse. 

The  youngest  brother  reeled  over  on  a  pile  of  cut  grain, 
twitched,  and  moved  no  more.  During  some  heart-beats  the 
three  who  remained  upright  were  as  motionless  as  he;  then,  at 
the  same  second,  the  poses  dissolved.  Bertha  threw  herself 
down  on  her  knees  beside  him;  Jonathan  swung  away  his  cra- 
dle, and  went  to  help.  Antony  looked  at  the  fallen  one,  blinked, 
and  walked  across  the  field,  his  hand  dripping  on  the  wheat. 

126 


X 

ANTONY  REAPS  THE   WHEAT 

nPHEIR  brains  were  turning.  The  exposure  of  their 
1  feelings  could  not  be  faced,  nor  could  its  consequences, 
which  placed  each  one,  before  the  eyes  of  the  other,  in  the 
red  light  of  tragedy.  They  could  only  act  on  instinct,  and 
instinctively  Jonathan  submitted  the  horror  to  Bertha,  with 
the  one  question: 

"Do  you  think  that  we  can  get  him  home  alive  ?" 

"We  must  just  try." 

It  looked  hopeless.  When  he  had  been  laid  on  the  door 
brought  by  Jonathan  from  the  nearest  shed  the  sun  was  so 
bright  on  his  eyelids  that  Bertha  covered  them  with  his 
hat,  but  it  seemed  as  if  no  sunlight  could  disturb  those  eyes. 
This  was  not  like  Jesse,  with  nothing  mobile  about  it  except 
the  rose  in  the  hatband  and  the  growing  red'  stains  that 
would  not  stop — this  which  they  carried,  at  head  and  feet, 
from  the  wheat-field  to  his  home.  Job  had  started  early 
to  cross  the  mountain,  and  would  not  return  until  evening, 
and  Susanna  was  alone.  Although  it  occurred  to  Jonathan 
that  she  should  be  prepared,  he  could  not  think  how;  he 
could  devise  nothing  but  to  go  on,  to  lay  upon  a  decent  bed 
the  burden  on  the  door.  Bertha  thought  of  it  also,  but  she 
was  in  deadly  haste  for  Jesse;  so  they  marched  ahead,  and 
Susanna  was  attracted  to  the  porch  and  saw  them. 

127 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

The  mother  took  command  at  once,  but  Bertha  needed 
no  directions.  Seeing  what  was  to  be  done,  she  interrupted 
them  in  Jesse's  room  only  long  enough  to  say: 

"I  shall  go  for  the  doctor." 

Jonathan  looked  up  from  his  task.  "You  cannot  hitch 
a  horse.  As  soon  as  possible,  I  shall  come  and  do  it  for 
you." 

"I  can.  You  stay  here.  I  shall  bring  the  doctor.  Do 
you  want  your  Uncle  Philip  too  ?" 

"My  God,  yes!  But  can  he  come  in  time?"  said  Jon- 
athan, wretchedly. 

Sympathy  with  him  emboldened  her:  this  was  her  oppor- 
tunity for  courage,  and  she  grasped  it;  she  dared  to  harness 
Antony's  own  horse.  Her  methods  were  bewildering  to 
him,  but  she  made  him  understand  her,  and  he  was  quite 
ready  to  take  her  anywhere.  Their  speed  was  a  new  thing 
for  the  country  roads  by  daylight,  for  races  generally  oc- 
curred in  the  evening;  other  drivers  took  it  for  a  runaway, 
and  pulled  toward  the  fences.  The  doctor  was  on  his 
rounds,  and  she  pursued  him,  saw  his  muddy  buggy  a  long 
way  off,  caught  it,  and  dispatched  him  at  a  gallop.  Then 
she  went  for  Philip.  She  could  have  wept  when  she  learned 
that  he  was  spending  two  days  in  the  city. 

As  she  took  up  the  reins  with  shaking  hands  the  horse 
felt  that  she  was  afraid  of  him,  and  behaved  teasingly.  She 
was  afraid;  she  felt  very  weak  and  drove  slowly,  for  there 
were  so  many  dreadful  thoughts  ready  for  her.  What 
would  happen  when  the  doctor  arrived — when  Job  arrived  ? 
Antony's  return  could  not  be  dwelt  upon.  She  was  terri- 
fied at  going  back  herself. 

All  the  absent  ones,  and  especially  the  doctor,  were 
awaited  in  misery  by  Susanna  and  Jonathan.  What  they 

128 


ANTONY    REAPS    THE    WHEAT 

could  do  was  little,  although  it  seemed  as  if  his  mother's 
efforts  should  snatch  Jesse  back;  and  when  everything  they 
could  think  of  had  been  tried,  they  stood  beside  his  bed  in 
helplessness.  Silence  and  deferential  waiting  were  imposed 
by  the  face,  suddenly  contracted  and  gray  and  fearfully 
still.  They  knew  him  to  be  alive;  but  he  was  so  near  the 
other  state  that  he  required  deportment  not  of  earth,  and  his 
thoughts,  if  they  existed,  were  the  mysterious  thoughts  of 
the  dying. 

"If  the  doctor  would  come!"  said  Susanna,  in  a  humble 
tone. 

"She  will  bring  him.  She  will  find  him.  Uncle  Philip 
too." 

"I  think  that  Philip  is  the  more  necessary.  If  my  son 
goes  from  me  without  a  minister!  That  could  not  be;  it 
could  not  be  permitted  so."  She  expected  that  it  would  be, 
however;  and  Jonathan  was  appalled,  for  he  could  read  her 
mind. 

"If  you  had  not  been  a  grief  and  a  disappointment  to  us 
all,  you  could  have  taken  his  place,  and  done  the  last  service 
to  your  brother." 

He  bowed  his  head  witnout  answering. 

When  she  spoke  again  her  voice  had  gathered  decision; 
it  had  a  majestic  sound.  "Jonathan,  now  that  we  have 
done  all  that  we  can,  and  have  only  to  wait,  do  you  tell  me 
how  this  awful  thing  has  happened." 

He  opened  his  lips  to  obey,  and  realized  that  there  was 
nothing  that  he  could  say;  he  could  tell  neither  who  nor  why. 

"Well?"  Susanna  required. 

"Mother,  not  now.  It  is  an  awful  thing,  indeed;  and  we 
must  be  ready  to  help  the  doctor  when  he  comes,  not  in  the 
middle  of  such  a  consideration.  Wait." 

129 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

"I  think  that  you  can  tell  me  how  it  happens  that  Jesse 
lies  here." 

"It  was  an  accident — " 

"Are  you  sure  of  that  ?" 

"Yes,  I  am  sure." 

"Whose  accident?" 

"Mother,  let  it  go!     Let  it  go!" 

"Let  it  go!  You  also  have  been  in  this  accident,  by  the 
blood  upon  your  face.  At  first  I  thought  that  it  was  his. 
And  where  is  Antony  ?" 

"I  don't  know."   J 

"So?  Some  of  you  have  gotten  into  trouble,  and  I 
desire  to  know  what.  Tell  me,  Jonathan." 

"I  dare  not  tell  you." 

"Why  not?" 

The  answer  that  he  could  not  give  presented  itself  to 
Jonathan,  the  abominable  scene  was  once  more  before  him; 
before  him  too  lay  Jesse,  as  the  first  result.  Weakened  by 
the  restraints  and  exactions  of  the  past  hard  months,  and 
facing  the  overpowering  prospect  of  his  own  implication 
and  what  remained  for  him  to  live  through,  he  could  sup- 
port no  more.  He  made  an  inarticulate  sound  of  appeal, 
and  not  in  vain.  This  son,  who  was  always  the  most  remote 
from  Susanna  of  her  three,  had  during  his  contumacy  re- 
ceded still  further;  there  had  been  times  when  he  had  been 
judged  by  her  almost  if  he  were  the  son  of  another  woman; 
but  the  sight  of  his  distress  brought  him  back  to  her.  She 
looked  from  one  to  the  other,  knew  not  which  to  feel  for 
most,  and  could  be  separated  from  neither.  Laying  her 
hand  on  Jesse's  hand,  she  drew  Jonathan's  bent  head  to  her 
shoulder  and  said  nothing,  and  waited  for  the  minutes  to 
pass. 

130 


ANTONY    REAPS    THE    WHEAT 

The  clock  ticked  them  away — Jesse's  minutes — and  it 
was  as  if  they  went  before  the  watchers  visibly  in  a  dire 
procession.  Intolerable  waiting,  in  the  noiseless  house, 
with  no  sounds  of  work  coming  from  the  fields!  For  a 
little  while  Susanna's  thoughts  concerned  themselves  with 
Bertha,  who  had  witnessed  whatever  had  happened;  but 
she  proudly  determined  not  to  question  her;  she  would 
not  owe  to  that  girl  any  knowledge  about  her  sons;  and  she 
soon  ceased  to  wish  to  know,  the  way  of  it  was  so  unim- 
portant. Jonathan  also  was  thinking  of  the  stranger. 
Without  the  smallest  hope  for  Jesse,  uncertain  whether  that 
night  his  father  would  give  him  a  home  to  lie  in,  and  realizing 
that,  even  were  he  suffered  there,  home  had  become  un- 
tenable, he  could  be  sure  of  one  thing  only:  that  the  story  of 
the  fight,  which  involved  Bertha,  should  not  be  told  by  him. 

So  the  three  waited — Jonathan,  Jesse,  and  their  mother. 
There  was  something  gladiatorial  in  their  patience. 

The  doctor  came;  and  when  the  heart-rending  perform- 
ance was  over,  they  learned  that  they  must  go  on  waiting 
alone  together,  and  unsupported  by  hope.  In  spite  of  the 
worst,  they  could  not  hasten  Job,  for  he  had  gone  a  half- 
day's  journey,  and  would  return  in  the  evening,  unsus- 
piciously. The  wounded  man  had  been  dragged  back  to 
consciousness,  and  by  way  of  rousing  him,  the  doctor  asked : 

"Jesse,  who  hurt  you  ?" 

His  eyes  closed;  he  made  no  effort  to  reply.  It  could  not 
have  been  said  in  what  world  he  now  was,  but  loyalties 
persisted  there.  The  others  thought  that  he  had  not  heard; 
Jonathan  divined  that  he  was  protecting  Antony,  and  drew 
a  long  breath. 

Presently  Bertha's  team  was  heard;  and  thinking  that 
Philip  was  with  her,  they  exchanged  glances  of  relief. 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

Jonathan  hurried  down.  Beside  his  disappointment  at 
seeing  her  alone,  he  found  cause  for  anxiety  in  her  pale, 
drained  looks. 

"You  are  worn  out,"  he  said,  helping  her  to  the  ground. 
"You  drove  hard." 

"Yes." 

He  noted  the  incoherent  arrangement  of  straps  and 
buckles  and  the  lathery  flanks,  and  asked,  "Had  you  ever 
hitched  a  horse  before  ?" 

"No." 

"Had  you  driven?" 

"Twice,  with  my  brother." 

"Yet  you  took  Antony's  horse,  because  he  was  the  fast- 
est, and  went,  having  hitched  him  yourself,  to  bring  the 
doctor.  You  were  afraid  too.  And  after  helping  to  carry 
Jesse!  Poor  girl!" 

As  she  had  thought  that  her  effort  would  not  be  noticed, 
she  had  to  turn  her  head  to  hide  sudden  tears;  but  she  did 
not  instantly  move  away  from  him,  and  they  both  had  a 
happy  moment  before  she  went  into  the  solemn  house. 
There  she  set  to  work  to  do  what  common  things  were 
necessary,  putting  her  wishes  for  the  family  into  her  service- 
ableness.  He  wandered  out  and  in.  Susanna  sat  by 
Jesse,  traversing  her  own  abysses;  and  Jesse,  like  the  others, 
was  expecting.  Death,  Antony,  and  Job  were  awaited 
through  a  day  that  was  longer  than  any  day  not  of  joy 
should  be.  It  was  early  evening  when  Job,  the  first  arrival, 
came. 

Leaving  Jonathan  in  her  place,  Susanna  went  to  meet 
him,  and  found  him  hot  and  cheerful  after  a  good  journey. 
When  she  had  told  what  she  had  to  tell,  he  could  say  noth- 
ing at  first.  The  gaps  in  the  story  were  no  more  uncon- 

132 


ANTONY    REAPS    THE    WHEAT 

vincing  than  was  the  main  fact:  irreconcilable  was  such  a 
calamity  with  Heilig  luck,  and  he  had  been  so  conscious  of 
divine  agreement.  In  a  state  of  mechanical  unbelief,  he 
went  with  his  wife  into  the  room  where  the  proof  lay,  and 
confronted  it.  Before  that  face,  grayer  and  more  aloof,  it 
would  have  been  a  flippancy  to  talk  of  life.  Susanna  saw 
the  event  more  clearly  than  before  her  short  absence,  and, 
now  that  her  husband  had  come,  she  wept;  and  Job,  stand- 
ing in  amazement  at  this  illogical  misfortune,  comforted 
her  without  giving  his  mind  to  it.  Many  years  had  passed 
since  he  had  oriented  himself,  and  judging  from  what  he 
had  already  lived  through,  had  thought,  "Life  will  be  like 
this";  and  now  the  placid  course  was  changed  Life;  turned 
a  different  side  to  him. 

Involuntarily  they  moved  away  together,  for  they  could 
not  speak  of  happenings  there.  When  they  were  in  another 
room,  Job  said,  "You  tell  me  that  Antony,  Jonathan,  and 
Jesse  were  in  the  field  together.  Bertha  went  out  to  them; 
Jonathan  and  she  brought  Jesse  back  in  this  condition,  and 
all  Jonathan  will  say  is,  that  it  was  an  accident;  and  Antony 
has  not  come  home." 

"So  it  happened." 

"What  does  Bertha  say?" 

"  I  do  not  need  her  to  tell  me  about  our  sons — as  you  did 
not  need  her  to  tell  you  about  our  daughter;  nor  did  I  press 
Jonathan,  who  is  in  deep  distress.  I  thought  it  best  to  wait 
for  Antony." 

"I  also  believe  that  he  is  the  one  to  tell  us.  We  know 
Antony.  But  why  did  he  fight  ?  And  with  Jesse  ?  Jona- 
than would  have  been  more  likely." 

"Jonathan  was  not  out  of  it;  he  has  a  cut  across  the  cheek. 
As  for  the  reason,  it  is  my  idea  that  Bertha — " 

133 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

"You  think  that  it  was  over  her  ?" 

"I  am  sure,  though  no  one  has  told  me  one  word." 

"Then  you  do  not  know.  Wait.  When  Antony  comes 
home  we  shall  hear.  Now  do  you  go  to  bed,  and  sleep. 
Yes,  I  ask  you  to  do  so.  The  rest  of  us  will  divide  this  night, 
and  to-morrow  you  can  take  charge."  He  faltered — the  next 
night  looked  so  doubtful  to  both.  "And  you  shall  be  called 
if  necessary." 

She  could  scarcely  bring  herself  to  it;  but  he  wished  it, 
and  she  went;  and  Bertha  took  her  place,  where  there  was 
nothing  to  do  but  listen  to  the  crickets  and  watch  the  light 
of  the  fat-lamp  flickering  on  the  wall.  For  a  time  Job  and 
Jonathan  sat  on  the  porch  together,  apprehending  Antony's 
coming,  until  Job  could  be  inactive  no  longer,  and  saddled 
a  horse  and  rode  off  to  search.  Long  before  his  return 
Jonathan,  gazing  into  the  dark  and  thinking,  heard  Antony's 
unmistakable  step  on  the  road.  Then  he  appeared. 

"Who  is  that  ?"  he  inquired,  coming  near. 

Jonathan  got  to  his  feet  in  a  hurry,  guarding.  It  was 
light  enough  to  see  that  the  new-comer  was  half  drunk. 

"You!"  said  Antony.  "Why  must  it  be  you?  Keep 
out  of  my  way,  for  God's  sake!" 

Surrounded  by  his  own  atmosphere  like  a  passing  portent, 
he  disappeared  into  the  house.  Jonathan  heard  him  mount 
the  stairs  and  go  quietly  to  Jesse's  door,  where  he  stood 
awhile  before  opening  it.  Instead  of  the  lamps  and  the 
watchers,  and  the  certain  arrangement  of  the  sheets  which 
he  had  expected,  he  discerned  first  Bertha,  turned  in  her 
chair  to  see  who  was  entering.  He  sighed  then,  and  beckon- 
ed to  her,  and  she  came,  looking  intently  into  his  face,  which 
was  eroded  by  the  night  and  day.  His  gaze  at  her  ignored 
her  gaze:  each  face  was  of  final  importance  to  the  other; 

134 


ANTONY    REAPS    THE    WHEAT 

at  the  moment  they  forgot  the  last  anxiety  for  this  new  one 
of  their  meeting,  but  they  were  haggard  from  what  had 
preceded.  Bertha  stood  with  a  kind  of  backward  drawing 
of  her  figure,  and  in  her  attitude  a  reference  to  the  bed. 
Antony  overhung  her. 

"You  see  me  again,"  he  said,  "but  do  not  be  afraid." 

"I  am  not  afraid." 

He  even  smiled  at  that;  then  he  looked  at  the  bed. 
"He—?" 

"He  is  living." 

"Has  he  spoken?" 

"No." 

"I  am  here  to  see  him  and  you.  To-night  I  am  going 
away.  I  bid  you  good-bye.  I  would  also  say  that  I  shall 
come  back.  It  has  gone  ill  between  you  and  me.  If  I  had 
been  like  Jonathan  or  like  him,  you  would  not,  perhaps, 
have  so  despised  me;  I  might  not  have  had  to  wait.  As  it 
is,  I  will  wait;  but  I  shall  come  back." 

"Listen,"  said  she,  with  forlorn  courage.  "It  is  right 
that  you  come  back,  but  not  for  me.  Here,  before  your 
brother  who  cannot  hear  us,  I  tell  you :  do  not  come  back 
for  me.  And  where  should  I  speak  the  truth  if  not 
here  ?" 

"And  before  my  brother,  who  cannot  hear  us,  I  tell  you 
I  will  come  back  for  you  unless  I  die.  I  also  speak  the 
truth.  You  have  your  woman's  uprightness,  I  know  it  well; 
but  you  are  dealing  with  a  man.  Good-bye,  now.  Why, 
I  will  not  offend  you!  You  are  mine,  little  Bertha.  That 
is  what  you  cannot  understand.  Come,  give  me  your  hand. 
You  might  do  as  much  as  that  for  me." 

She  gave  what  he  claimed;  and  after  an  instant  of  rec- 
ompense, he  put  her  gently  out  of  the  room,  saying:  "I 
10  135 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

have  something  to  do  here.     Afterward  you  may  take  your 
place  again." 

What  he  had  to  do  was  with  the  one  on  the  bed.  He 
stood  looking  at  the  powerless  bulk  and  half-opened  eyes, 
and  thinking  that  that  was  Jesse,  and  that  he  had  done  it; 
and  as  he  aimlessly  waited  the  lids  were  lifted.  Jesse  him- 
self looked  up. 

"Well?" 

Antony  had  almost  to  touch  his  lips  in  order  to  hear,  but 
it  was  a  word — that  word.  He  took  a  bottle  from  his 
pocket,  and  poured  a  little  between  the  lips;  then  he  knelt 
by  the  bed.  Although  it  seemed  that  Jesse  wished  to  smile 
and  could  not,  he  gathered  strength  quickly — perhaps  from 
his  companion. 

"Yes.  I  will  stay  awhile,"  Antony  assured  him;  and 
waited,  kneeling. 

"You  must  have  worried,"  said  Jesse,  in  a  shadow  of  a 
voice. 

"Yes.     Yes." 

"Do  not." 

"  Do  you  think  that  you  are  going,  Jesse  ?M 

"No." 

"That  is  right.     Stay — for  me." 

"Yes." 

Presently  Antony  began:  "I  am  going  away  to-night. 
Jesse,  can  you  hear  me  ?  Here  I  can  stay  no  longer;  I  will 
break  away,  and  try  for  myself.  I  am  glad  to  do  it.  Since 
I  was  younger  than  you,  I  have  had  the  desire;  and  to-night 
I  will  free  myself.  Also,  I  shall  let  you  know  where  I  am, 
and  how  I  find  things." 

"Where?" 

"West." 

136 


ANTONY    REAPS    THE    WHEAT 

"Later,  I  follow  you." 

"That  would  be  a  good  move.  If  you  say  so,  I  shall 
gladly  wait  awhile." 

"Why  should  you?  I  am  no  handsome  sight.  I  shall 
meet  you  later."  Jesse  accomplished  the  reply  with  long 
pauses. 

Antony  nodded,  in  admiration  of  this  sense;  rose  to  his 
feet;  and  lingered.  Seeing  a  word  coming,  he  bent  to 
catch  it. 

"You  fought  about  her?" 

"Yes." 

"Women—!" 

By  the  inflection  Jesse  synopsized  his  impressions.  It 
cut  the  hearer,  who  stared  with  woe-begone  eyes  across  the 
bed,  reviewing  his  last  days. 

"Good-bye,"  he  said. 

Jesse  repeated,  "I  shall  come  after  you,"  and  followed 
his  hero  out  of  the  room  with  his  eyes.  When  Bertha  re- 
turned, she  found  him — not  bending  alertly  forward,  with 
his  air  of  watchful  interest,  but  trying  to  express  an  in- 
terest grown  intenser  by  the  limited  mobility  of  those  eves. 
They  were  alive  indeed. 

Seeing  that  he  wished  to  speak,  she  in  her  turn  hung  over 
him,  with  momentary  happiness  because  he  could  speak. 

"How  do  you  feel  ?"  he  whispered. 

She  thought  that  he  was  wandering,  and  repeated,  "How 
do  7  feel  ?" 

"Yes — you — the  cause.  It  must  be  a  task  to  be  worth 
all  that.  Now  let  Jonathan  take  your  place." 

He  tried  to  move,  but  his  body  warned  him,  and  soon  he 
appeared  to  sleep;  having  no  more  reason  to  listen,  for  he 
h.ad  .heard  the  last  of  Antony's  steps. 

137 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

They  were  as  careful  as  Esther's  last  steps  in  that  house. 
From  his  own  room  he  went  to  the  kitchen  to  get  food 
before  he  departed,  for  he  had  eaten  nothing  since  morning, 
but  he  did  not  know  what  he  ate.  Like  every  one  else  in 
that  house,  he  was  the  victim  of  pressing  thoughts,  which 
began  upon  him  again  as  they  had  dealt  with  him  all  day, 
and  he  had  to  sweat  to  master  them.  Jonathan,  un- 
punished, aiming  at  his  place;  Jesse  half-killed  by  him; 
Bertha  not  acquired;  that  was  much  for  one  man  to  brood 
over.  However,  when  he  reflected  that  within  a  few  minutes 
he  would  have  put  everything  behind  him,  he  exulted.  It 
seemed  that  he  could  dominate  even  this,  and  take  what  he 
would  have  from  the  world.  His  father's  return,  when  he 
heard  it,  was  not  now  recognized  by  him  as  the  approach 
of  a  superior  officer,  but  as  another  man  coming,  whose 
presence  accentuated  his  newly  felt  freedom.  The  door 
opened,  admitting  a  band  of  moonlight,  and  he  looked  at 
Job  in  an  unparalleled  way. 

"So,"  said  Job.    "You  are  here,  and  in  Sunday  clothes." 

His  manner  summoned  Antony  to  rise,  but  Antony  did 
not  move. 

"Come  outside.  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  and 
there  must  be  no  noise  in  this  house." 

From  the  momentary  exchange  of  looks  he  knew  that  he 
was  in  danger  of  being  defied;  but  Antony  was  now  ready 
to  leave,  and  came  out,  therefore.  Job  sat  on  a  bench,  in 
his  unconsciously  judicial  attitude,  with  his  short  whip 
across  his  knee.  Antony  occupied  the  other  half  of  the 
bench,  on  an  equality,  and  the  smell  of  whiskey  came  into 
Job's  face.  The  moonlight  through  the  fruit-trees  showed 
them  to  each  other. 

"You  have  been  much  needed  here  to-day,"  said  the 

138 


ANTONY    REAPS    THE    WHEAT 

father,  deliberately,  "and  you  were  elsewhere.  I  want 
to  know  what  kept  you  away  so  long." 

"Business." 

"You  seem  to  have  been  transacting  it  in  the  bar- 
room." 

"It  was  my  business." 

"I  was  not  aware  that  my  head  man  was  conducting  any 
affairs  apart  from  mine.  This  morning  I  left  you  in  charge 
of  the  work,  I  found  you  gone  when  I  came  home,  I  waited 
for  you  to  appear  of  your  own  accord,  then  I  went  to  look 
for  you;  and  where  did  I  hear  of  you  ?  In  the  lowest  tavern 
that  you  could  just  find.  The  hostlers  were  making  a  good 
joke  of  how  Antony  Heilig  had  been  hanging  around  the 
whole  day,  and  how  he  had  put  away  any  God's  quantity 
of  whiskey.  They  all  knew  you  well.  It  seems  that  you 
are  a  regular  customer." 

"I  make  my  own  choice  of  a  place  to  spend  my  own 
money." 

"You  are  mistaken.  My  overseer,  and  still  more  my 
son,  runs  up  no  such  bills  and  makes  no  choice  from  among 
such  places." 

"That  may  be;  but  I  am  no  longer  your  overseer." 

"You  may  omit  that  until  later.  You  can  be  sure  that 
no  son  of  mine  shall  continue  to  bring  scandal  on  the  family 
by  getting  drunk  in  low  bar-rooms.  And  that  is  not  all. 
Now  I  will  hear  what  has  happened  to  Jesse." 

"Have  you  not  seen  him  ?  Then  you  know  that  he  was 
cut  by  a  cradle." 

"It  is  not  for  you  to  inquire  what  I  know.  Answer  my 
question." 

He  could  see  Antony's  mockery  in  the  moonlight;  and  it 
was  as  if  Saul  had  just  betrayed  him,  and  Jonathan  had 

139 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

just  disappointed  him,  and  Esther  had  just  left  him,  with 
this  new  thing  added. 

"Why  do  you  not  ask  Jonathan  ?"  Antony  demanded. 
"He  was  present." 

"When  your  mother  questioned  him,  he  took  it  so  hard 
that  she  said  no  more." 

"So.  But  you  do  not  consider  whether  I  might  take  it 
hard  or  not.  You  require  information — " 

"I  will  have  this  information.  Answer  me.  Who  has 
killed  Jesse  ?" 

"You  go  the  wrong  way  to  work.  If  you  had  asked  me 
civilly,  as  one  man  to  another,  I  should  then  willingly  have 
told  you  what  I  could.  Now — " 

"Did  Jonathan?" 

"No." 

"Did  Bertha?" 

"Lord,  no." 

"Then  you  did." 

"Do  I  deny  it?" 

"Why?" 

"That  is  between  him  and  me.  I  will  tell  you  no  word 
more." 

Antony  was  smiling  in  pure  joy  of  freedom.  Job  felt 
himself  stripped  barer  and  barer  of  patriarchal  honors. 

"You  refuse  to  tell  me  what  I  ask  you  ?" 

"I  will  tell  you  no  word,  I  say,  of  what  is  not  your 
business." 

"Not  my  business — when  one  of  my  sons  mows  down 
another,  and  he  is  dying  of  it  ?" 

"There  are  things  which  go  beyond  a  father's  claim. 
You  ought  to  know  that.  Were  you  never  young  ?" 

"I  believe  that  the  fight  was  over  this  girl.  It  may  be 

140 


ANTONY    REAPS    THE    WHEAT 

that  you  offered  her  a  remark,  or  something  more,  which 
she  resented.  If  so — she,  poor,  alone,  and  in  my  keeping, 
and  my  hospitality  made  dangerous  by  a  son — then,  go. 
Here  you  stay  no  longer." 

"You  are  very  sure  that  I  was  the  only  one  to  blame," 
said  Antony,  in  a  lonely  voice;  and  continued,  half  laugh- 
ing: "However,  you  are  right  in  one  point,  for  a  change. 
Here  I  stay  no  longer." 

Job  drew  back  a  little,  out  of  the  moonlight. 

"But  before  I  go  I  shall  tell  you  a  few  things.  Although 
I  don't  know  whether  you  can  take  them  in,  seeing  that 
you  are  so  a  man,  to  try  it  does  no  harm.  You  think  that 
you  live  in  justice  to  all  men,  but  that  is  an  error.  You 
rob  your  own  children.  In  your  way  they  must  walk,  or, 
by  God!  you  push  them  off  the  path." 

He  brought  his  face  close  to  Job's. 

"A-a-a-h!  Look  at  me!  No  education  but  for  your 
Thai;  no  interests  but  in  your  Thai;  no  pleasure  any- 
where! Here  I  was  to  stay,  to  work  for  you,  and  you  are 
the  cause  that,  now  that  I  cannot  stay,  I  go  like  a  tramp 
instead  of  like  an  independent  man  and  a  rich  man's  son. 
Jonathan  has  taken  his  way,  and  Esther  and  Saul  have 
taken  their  way,  and  now  I  will  take  my  way,  and  make  it, 
too;  but  I  shall  not  owe  it  to  you.  You  are  to  blame  also 
that  where  it  is  most  weighty  to  me  I  am  shoved  aside  and 
despised!  I  was  never  consulted.  No,  I  was  to  live  as 
you  decided.  And  now,  what  is  there  to  make  me  wish  to 
live  ?" 

"You  are  more  drunk  than  I  thought;  you  do  not  know 
what  you  say." 

"I  am  not  drunk,  and  I  know  well  what  I  say;  and  you 
know  that  I  know  it,  too.  A-a-a-h,  you  righteous  old  man!" 

141 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

The  snarling  face  almost  touched  the  shaded  face. 

"Stand  up!"  shouted  Job. 

Laughing,  Antony  threw  himself  back  on  the  bench. 
Job's  action,  which  rage  rendered  more  than  usually  power- 
ful, took  him  by  surprise,  and  he  was  hauled  to  his  feet. 
At  first  he  resisted,  and  an  unnatural  fight  impended;  but 
as  soon  as  he  understood  his  father's  intention  he  was  still, 
and  even  assumed  a  more  convenient  position. 

Job's  shadow,  which  looked  like  a  black  monkey,  began 
to  move  violently. 

At  first  he  held  his  son  with  his  left  hand;  loosening  his 
hold,  as  it  was  unnecessary,  more  and  more  strength  went 
into  his  right  arm.  The  short  whip  jerked  up  and  down 
through  the  moonlight,  cracking  loudly;  there  was  no 
mercy  in  the  thing;  once  when  it  struck  Antony's  neck,  the 
mark  was  plainly  visible  to  Job,  who  observed  it  and  con- 
tinued. Each  time  it  fell  the  recipient  laughed,  until  too 
much  had  been  taken  out  of  him;  then  he  stood  as  still  as 
the  trees,  and  suffered. 

"Now!"  said  Job,  when  he  thought  that  he  had  done 
enough. 

They  faced  each  other;  and  Antony,  on  his  side,  said: 
"Yes.  Now!" 

"I  have  given  you  a  lesson.  If  you  had  had  more  and 
earlier,  it  would  have  been  better,  I  see.  Now,  follow  your 
own  judgment." 

The  moment  during  which  they  continued  to  stare  at  each 
other  might  have  ended  in  anything — in  reconciliation,  par- 
ricide, or  valediction.  When  it  was  over,  Antony  began  to 
move  away.  He  was  stately;  for  the  first  few  steps  he 
walked  backward,  and  he  retired  among  the  trees.  Even 
after  he  had  disappeared,  Job  did  not  stir  until  the  doctor's 

142 


ANTONY    REAPS    THE    WHEAT 

carriage  stopped  before  the  house,  and  he  went  with  a 
matter-of-fact  gait  to  light  the  doctor  in. 

Antony  heard  the  carriage  wheels  on  his  way  to  the  re- 
treat which  he  had  selected.  He  had  had  no  desire  to  de- 
fend himself  against  his  father,  because  what  he  was  going 
to  do  was  so  much  more  satisfactory.  In  those  blows  there 
had  been  inspiration.  He  was  compelled  to  repay  them — 
would  have  repaid  them  in  the  next  world;  and  as  they 
continued  they  beat  out  every  obfuscation  of  his  mind  and 
every  check  of  virtue  like  dirt,  so  that  he  saw  his  purpose 
plainly  before  him  in  a  series  of  infernal  pictures. 

The  place  where  they  were  to  be  realized  was  a  treasury 
of  wealth  characteristic  of  the  Thai.  At  the  present  season 
the  willows  which  protected  the  barn  were  so  thick-foliaged 
that  the  moonbeams  scarcely  penetrated;  and  there  it  was 
dark  and  quiet  enough  for  the  drip  from  the  water-trough 
to  sound  self-assertive.  Stamping  hoofs  were  more  frequent 
than  usual,  because  all  the  thirteen  horses  happened  to  be 
in  from  pasture,  representing  a  sum  that  would  have  been 
a  small  fortune  to  a  poor  farmer.  The  cattle,  passing  a 
comfortable,  meditative  night  in  the  pen,  showed  by  small 
movements  their  recognition  of  Antony's  presence,  and  at- 
tracted him  to  lean  on  the  fence  and  look  at  them  awhile, 
during  which  the  Holstein  bull  came  leisurely  and  waited 
to  be  rubbed.  There  was  a  low,  confidential  noise  from 
the  bull,  as  if  he  were  calling  after  a  friend,  when  the  man 
moved  away  toward  the  five  haystacks.  They  and  the 
hay  which  packed  the  barn — the  result  of  fertile  ground, 
propitious  elements,  and  men's  honest  and  trusting  work — 
might  have  been  Antony's  own  creation,  he  had  had  so 
much  to  do  with  them. 

No  one  else  had  as  good  a  right  as  he  to  go  climbing  up 

H3 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

into  the  mow,  which  owed  and  made  him  a  soft  bed.  He 
enjoyed  it  until,  through  the  air-hole  whose  location  had 
determined  his,  he  saw  the  doctor  drive  away,  saw  that  there 
was  no  light  in  the  house  except  Jesse's  glimmer,  and  long 
after.  Two  or  three  times  he  drank,  luxuriously,  without 
avidity,  and  as  luxuriously  surveyed  his  position  with  re- 
spect to  his  own  life  and  its  obstacles.  It  was  pleasant  now 
to  do  this,  because  of  the  recent  liberty  and  the  exultation; 
and  there  was  also  his  beautiful  repayment  to  begin  im- 
mediately. That  first — and  then  to  walk  away  into  the 
subjugable  world. 

He  set  to  work. 

He  descended  the  ladder  to  the  stable  floor,  hunting  the 
rungs  with  his  feet,  for  he  was  not  taking  the  trouble  to 
light  anything  more  than  was  necessary.  In  the  middle 
feed-entry  he  was  able  to  put  his  hand  on  a  remembered 
piece  of  board,  which,  when  he  had  broken  it,  served  well 
to  cover  the  loose  pile  of  straw  which  he  pulled  together  on 
the  floor.  One  match  was  enough  to  start  the  blaze,  and 
the  wood  delayed  it,  as  he  had  intended.  Although  he  had 
planned  to  fasten  the  doors  on  the  inside,  it  now  interested 
him  to  put  an  element  of  chance  into  the  situation. 

"I  shall  leave  them  unfastened,"  he  decided,  "and  any 
one  who  really  wants  the  horses  can  come  in  and  get 
them.  It  will  nicely  warm  that  good  young  man,  Jon- 
athan." 

Then  he  ran  for  the  ladder.  No  planning  was  necessary 
in  the  mow,  where  he  had  only  to  strike  matches  and  throw 
them  about  to  secure  a  fine,  crackling  illumination.  His 
agent  was  not  strong  enough  to  roar  at  first,  but  it  soon 
would  be,  and  he  had  to  hurry  lest  it  seize  its  director. 
Cautiously,  watching  the  effect  of  the  draught,  he  opened 

144 


ANTONY    REAPS    THE    WHEAT 

the  wide  door  which  led  from  the  mow  to  the  slope  behind 
the  barn,  and  stopped  for  a  survey  before  departing. 

"I  made  this  hay,"  he  said,  aloud.  "I  made  it  for  the 
old  man.  Now  I  may  take  it  back  again." 

There  was  no  time  to  lose  if  he  did  not  want  to  be  found 
there,  with  his  satisfied,  creator's  look,  for  the  glow  was  al- 
ready bright  in  the  air-holes,  and  from  the  open  door  a  great 
flare  was  shining.  He  hoped  that  the  light  would  not  be 
noticed  at  the  house  until  more  had  been  accomplished. 
At  present  everything  was  promising.  The  flames  were 
cracking  louder  than  Job's  whip  as  they  ran  omnivorously 
about  the  mow.  They  ate  away  at  the  pile,  and  if  they 
found  a  little,  solitary  stalk  hanging  to  a  rafter  they  ate  that 
to  the  very  end;  the  air  moved  with  their  luminous  motion, 
and  was  permeated  with  their  noise.  It  filled  his  head, 
the  smoke  drawing  through  the  doorway  wrapped  around 
him  and  made  his  eyes  smart,  and  the  surfaces  of  his  body 
which  were  exposed  to  the  fire  felt  as  if  they  would  burst. 
Surrounded  by  the  slow  smoke  and  the  glare,  he  was  more 
genius-like  than  ever,  but  it  was  well  for  him  to  close  the 
door  and  be  away;  so  he  saw  that  the  rafters  were  going, 
the  floor  catching,  and  the  hay  a  terrific  mass,  and  shut  it 
in,  and  went,  while  panic  started  among  his  old  acquaint- 
ances. The  horses  began  to  scream,  the  pigeons  were  be- 
wildered and  flying  at  random,  and  he  heard  deep  protest 
from  the  cattle-pen. 

The  trees  around  the  barn  and  around  the  house  were  so 
thick  that  he  was  quite  sure  that  through  the  double  screen 
no  one  had  yet  seen  any  unusual  light,  so  he  indulged  a 
fancy  which  led  him  past  Jesse's  window  and  Bertha's. 
Hers  was  dark,  and  he  walked  slowly  by,  looking  up.  Under 
Jesse's  he  stopped  to  watch  the  glimmer  of  the  fat-lamp, 

145 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

thinking:  "If  he  knew  all,  Jesse  would  still  uphold  me.  It 
may  be  that  at  this  moment  Jesse  is  not  in  life.  If  she 
knew,  it  would  make  it  much  harder  for  me  to  get  her." 

What  was  going  on  in  the  barn  did  not  now  seem  enough 
to  pay  him  for  his  losses.  Another  idea  occurred  to  him, 
and  he  went  to  find  out  whether  he  had  time  to  execute  it 
before  getting  away.  When  the  roof  caught,  the  fire  would 
soon  be  seen,  and  the  family  would  appear,  if  the  heat  and 
the  burning  smells  did  not  bring  them  out  before;  but  it 
had  not  caught  yet,  although  the  whole  interior  was  blazing, 
for  the  stone  walls  confined  the  flames.  He  could  hear 
them  roar,  and  also  an  irregular  thudding  caused  by  the 
cattle  as  they  jumped  the  pen.  There,  would  be  time,  but 
he  must  make  great  haste;  so  he  ran  by  the  mill,  and 
swung  himself  over  the  fence  into  the  nearest  grain- 
field. 

From  that  point  to  the  top  of  the  eastern  rise  the  land 
was  all  in  wheat,  of  which  only  the  small  portion  was  cut 
which  the  three  brothers  had  accomplished  that  morning. 
It  was  almost  too  ripe  and  dry,  requiring  to  be  harvested 
at  once,  before  it  seeded,  and  the  thickly  covered  slope, 
up  which  a  light  wind  was  running,  looked  soft  and  beauti- 
ful in  the  moonlight.  Antony's  task  was  easy :  it  was  only 
to  walk  along  the  fence  throwing  lighted  matches  into  the 
wheat. 

By  this  time  streaks  of  fire  were  rising  into  the  air  from 
the  barn  roof;  the  family  would  come  running  out  now  at 
any  moment.  He  wanted  to  be  where  the  view  was  best, 
so  he  hurried  toward  the  path  along  the  top  of  the  rise,  be- 
yond which  was  the  quarry,  memorable  to  Esther  and  to 
Saul.  The  wheat  extended  almost  to  the  path.  When  he 
had  reached  it  he  established  himself  comfortably,  with  his 

146 


ANTONY    REAPS    THE    WHEAT 

back  against  a  tree,  took  a  comfortable  drink  from  his 
bottle,  and  proceeded  to  enjoy  the  display. 

It  seemed  to  have  no  connection  with  reality,  to  be  rather 
an  expensive  spectacle.  The  wheat  was  disappearing  in 
splendor.  Across  it  the  flames  proceeded  in  a  straight  wave, 
lightly  streaming  upward  into  pillowy  smoke.  The  barn 
was  far  advanced.  Fire  shot  through  apertures  in  the  walls, 
a  steady  column  of  fire  rose  through  the  roof,  and  the  smoke 
was  like  a  whirlpool,  carrying  up  sparks  amid  a  continuous 
roar.  The  wind  from  the  conflagration  moved  the  willows, 
which  were  scorching  in  the  intense  heat.  Above  all  this 
the  moon  looked  peaceful;  the  moonlight  outside  the  burn- 
ing circle  was  incredibly  white. 

Now  began  what  Antony  most  eagerly  awaited.  One 
figure  after  another  dashed  from  the  house  into  the  circle 
of  light.  Identifying  them  with  his  far-sighted  eyes,  he 
enjoyed  their  movements  and  their  attitudes,  as  uncon- 
vincing as  those  of  manikins  jerked  by  strings  into  a  sem- 
blance of  distraction,  and  as  resultless.  It  was  especially 
interesting  to  see  Jonathan  run  to  the  barn  door  and  open 
it,  and  the  fire  burst  out  at  him.  Interesting  also  was  the 
ringing  of  the  bell  intended  to  call  the  field-workers  to  come 
and  eat;  its  voice,  wild-sounding  because  it  was  pulled  so 
hastily  that  the  tongue  clung  to  the  sides,  affected  the  ear 
as  the  flame-light  affected  the  eye.  It  went  rolling  and  shout- 
ing over  the  valley  and  up  into  the  mountains.  Then  neigh- 
bors came,  on  foot  or  horseback;  there  were  people  on  the 
house  roof,  people  in  the  road;  and  Antony  was  as  much 
aware  of  their  shudders  when  the  wagon-shed  caught  and 
when  the  last  of  the  five  stacks  burned  as  he  was  of  the 
pungent,  characteristic  odors  which  the  wind  brought  him 
from  the  barn. 

147 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

"You  may  as  well  enjoy  the  sight,  as  I  do,"  he  remarked. 
"You  can  do  nothing.  In  time  it  will  burn  itself  out." 

The  fire  at  the  barn  was  so  eventful  that  he  forgot  for  a 
while  to  observe  his  other  fire,  which  was  below  him;  and 
he  did  not  remember  until  he  had  had  a  last  drink,  holding 
the  bottle  in  the  hand  which  had  been  cut,  and  which  the 
latest  dexterity  required  of  it  had  caused  to  bleed  again. 
Then  he -saw  that  the  flames  had  spread  wonderfully  over 
the  grain,  and  were  crawling  up  to  him,  with  the  air  of 
coming  to  their  master's  feet.  They  would  stop  only  at 
the  quarry  edge,  and  they  were  brighter  than  could  be 
imagined.  He  stared  at  them  in  admiration,  he  did  not 
wish  to  take  his  eyes  from  them. 

"But  I  must  get  away,"  he  thought.  "They  are  coming 
fast." 

They  were.  It  seemed  as  if  they  would  spring  upon  him 
if  he  took  his  eyes  off  them;  they  glared  at  him,  and  he  at 
them;  and  he  started  out  of  their  way,  still  looking,  and 
went  stumbling  backward. 

"So  much  fire,"  he  said,  with  wide  eyes  upon  the  flames. 

Many  confused  ideas  were  in  his  mind:  Jesse  on  the  bed; 
his  father  with  the  whip;  the  endless  day  at  the  tavern,  alone 
for  the  most  part,  with  a  glass  before  him  and  such  thoughts; 
and  Bertha's  voice,  and  Bertha's  palm  which  he  remembered 
softer  than  it  was. 

He  repeated:  "So  much  fire!" 

When  he  did  try  to  look  where  he  was  going  he  could  see 
nothing;  after  that  staring,  his  eye  could  report  nothing 
but  darkness.  He  went  on  for  a  few  steps.  Suddenly 
there  was  no  ground  for  his  advancing  foot,  and  he  fell. 

He  went  no  farther,  for  there  was  but  one  short  jour- 
ney before  him,  and  he  did  not  need  to  hasten.  When 

148 


ANTONY    REAPS    THE    WHEAT 

the  flames  which  he  had  made  had  eaten  up  his  wheat,  they 
climbed  to  the  top  and  looked  over  the  quarry  edge  at  him, 
but  he  did  not  care  to  look  at  them;  the  eyes  which  could 
see  so  far  were  fixed.  He  lay  there  on  the  rocks  by  him- 
self, while  the  burning  and  the  shouting  and  the  despair 
were  going  on  in  the  Thai;  and  while  clouds  rolled  up  de- 
taining the  smoke,  and  the  night  began  to  whisper  with 
rain,  and  his  flames  roared  a  march  for  him  before  they 
died. 

Job  found  him  in  the  morning. 

The  owner  of  the  Thai  went  out  at  dawn  to  see  what  was 
left  in  the  Thai.  First  he  looked  at  the  roofless,  half- 
calcined  ruin,  shaded  by  fire-blighted  willows,  where  his 
hay  had  been,  and  his  horses  and  many  kinds  of  riches; 
then  he  looked  at  his  cattle,  for  which  there  was  no  shelter, 
and  at  his  corn  and  oats,  which  he  had  no  horses  and  im- 
plements to  harvest.  He  went  across  his  wheat-fields, 
black  and  covered  with  thin  ashes  moving  in  the  wind,  to 
the  top  of  the  eastern  rise,  to  see  the  desolation  all  together. 

When  he  had  seen  who  waited  on  the  rocks,  he  ran  down. 
Antony's  garments  were  wet,  his  locks  were  pointed  by  the 
damp.  Job  looked  and  felt.  Then  he  took  his  son  on  his 
back,  reversing  the  way  of  the  generations,  and  carried 
him  up  to  the  top  and  over  the  slope,  and  along  the  road 
toward  home,  in  the  rain. 


XI  • 

HOUSES   OF   CLAY 

JOB  had  been  lying  beside  Susanna,  who  slept.  Her 
<J  obedience  extended  even  to  sleeping  on  such  an  occa- 
sion; but  her  position  was  uneasy,  and  she  made  plaintive 
sounds.  He  lay  straight,  with  eyes  closed  and  hands  folded 
on  his  breast,  looking  as  if  he  had  excluded  the  world,  and 
were  independent  of  it.  As  to  his  thoughts,  they  were 
busy.  The  incidents  of  the  day  having  been  sufficiently 
meditated,  he  had  advanced  to  search  for  reasons  and  con- 
nections, and  space  and  time  were  not  too  roomy  for  his 
questionings,  which  could  be  imagined  traversing  the  ether 
like  meteors.  Proper  to  his  spirit,  dignified  above  its  per- 
turbation, was  its  present  environment,  of  airy  darkness 
and  the  subdued  breathing  of  conjugal  peace. 

The  breathing  was  interrupted.  Susanna  woke  with  a 
wail,  and  clutched  him  without  waiting  to  see  whether  he 
slept  or  not,  exclaiming: 

"Job!     Hear  them!" 

"Hear  whom?"  he  asked,  with  a  kind  of  soothing  re- 
pression, 

"I  hear  the  sweetest  singing,  and  it  comes  from  far 
away — out  of  the  air.  It  is  the  angels — no  others  could 
sing  so.  It  is  for  Jesse.  Let  us  go  to  him." 

She  began  to  rise,  and  did  not  delay  while  they  spoke. 


HOUSES    OF    CLAY 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  asked,  although  he  knew. 

"You  know  that  when  a  soul  rises  they  welcome  it  with 
singing,  and  that  sometimes  others  are  permitted  to  hear, 
too.  Hurry!  I  hear  them,  and  I  must  see  him  before  he 
leaves  me.  Why  did  I  go  to  bed  ?  I  might  have  been 
with  him  all  this  time!" 

"You  are  dreaming,  Susanna.  You  know  that  Jonathan 
would  have  called  us." 

"I  am  not  dreaming.  Perhaps  he  fell  asleep,  and  his 
brother  dies  alone.  Do  you  not  hear  those  voices  ?  Here 
at  the  window  they  are  still  more  plain  and  sweet.  Job, 
come!  What  is  this  ?  A  strange  light!  Oh,  what  is  about 
to  happen  ?" 

"A  strange  light!"  exclaimed  Job.  For  a  second  he 
thought  of  the  Nativity,  its  light  and  singing;  then  he  low- 
ered his  voice,  mindfully.  "Whatever  it  is,  you  must  have 
courage.  You  must  stand  by  me,  will  you  not,  dear 
wife  ?" 

At  that  moment,  as  she  instantly  responded  by  cutting 
short  her  exclamations,  a  run  of  feet  down  the  stairs  was 
heard,  and  Bertha's  voice  at  the  door,  to  which  she  flew. 

"Jesse—?" 

"No,  no!    The  barn!    The  wheat!" 

They  hurried  on  their  garments  and  ran,  Job  and  Bertha 
out  of  the  house,  Susanna  to  Jesse.  As  a  reward  for  mod- 
erating her  movements  and  opening  his  door  softly  and  going 
with  composure  to  the  bed,  she  found  him  as  she  had  left 
him.  A  whisper  dispatched  Jonathan,  whom  the  sounds 
of  excitement  had  put  on  the  alert,  and  she  began  quietly 
to  close  the  shutters,  finding  in  the  location  of  the  room  on 
the  side  of  the  house  farthest  from  the  barn  the  one  small 
thing  of  which  she  could  be  glad.  She  was  afraid  to  leave 
ii  151 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

her  son,  to  see  how  far  her  home  was  to  be  demolished,  for, 
although  the  music  which  she  thought  celestial  was  no 
longer  in  her  ears,  she  believed  entirely  in  her  explanation 
of  it,  and  feared  that  the  moment  of  her  absence  would  be 
his  last;  so  she  sat  by  him,  resolute  and  terror-struck,  not 
knowing  on  which  side  the  first  blow  would  fall.  She  ex- 
pected his  death;  she  expected  disturbance  outside  which 
would  by  shocking  him  precipitate  it;  she  awaited  calamity 
to  an  unknown  extent.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  had  been 
waiting  all  her  life. 

Not  many  minutes  passed  before  the  first  thing  which  she 
dreaded  happened — the  wild  sounds  of  the  bell — and  imme- 
diately Jesse  stirred  and  opened  his  eyes.  She  tried  to 
withhold  the  answer  which  he  silently  demanded,  but  he 
would  know. 

"The  barn  is  on  fire,"  she  admitted. 

"Then  I  must— help." 

Under  the  effort  which  he  made  to  rise,  excruciating  even 
to  see,  his  whole  physical  being  seemed  to  cry  out;  but  he 
persisted,  although  she  exclaimed,  "Jesse!  Jesse!"  and 
flung  herself  toward  him  in  dissuasion.  Laying  her  hands 
on  his  shoulders  and  making  them  heavy  there — although 
his  struggles  were  rather  with  his  body  than  with  her — she 
pleaded  with  him,  and  he  stared  at  her  with  antagonism, 
still  faintly  moving. 

"Jesse!  The  best  thing  that  you  can  do  for  us  is  to  lie 
still." 

That  made  him  yield;  and  together  the  patient  pair 
listened,  looking  into  each  other's  faces,  through  the  smoke 
which  came  crawling  into  the  room,  for  interpretation  of 
the  noises  which  they  heard:  many  feet  tramping,  orders 
shouted,  the  loud  talk  of  neighborly  interest,  then  a  silence, 

152 


HOUSES    OF    CLAY 

ended  by  a  smothered  crash.  Both  knew  that  the  falling 
roof  must  have  made  that  sound. 

A  long  time  passed  before  any  one  was  at  liberty  to  come 
and  tell  them  how  it  went,  but  when  he  could,  Job  appeared, 
distressing  with  his  burnt  hands  and  blackened  face.  He 
was  beckoning  her  out  when  a  delaying  word  from  Jesse 
made  him  stay  to  give  his  news:  "It  is  all  gone.  Parts  of 
the  walls  which  have  not  been  burned  to  lime  are  standing, 
but  they  will  be  of  no  use;  the  roof  has  fallen,  and  the  fire 
is  still  burning  inside.  We  could  save  nothing  but  the 
cows,  which  are  loose  in  the  road.  The  stacks  are  destroyed, 
too;  even  the  willows  are  half  killed.  As  to  my  wheat,  I 
have  no  more." 

"You  do  not  mean  that  all  the  horses — ?" 

"Every  one.  Jonathan  tried,  but  if  he  had  gone  in  he 
would  not  have  come  out.  We  were  too  late;  it  was  too 
far  ahead  when  we  got  there." 

"All  the  horses!  The  bays,  the  sorrels,  Kitty  and  Harry, 
and  Antony's  black — !" 

"Now,  as  I  speak  to  you,  I  do  not  own  one  horse." 

"What  did  you  say  about  the  wheat?" 

"Whoever  did  this  made  a  good  job  of  it.  The  wheat 
is  burned  on  the  stalk.  The  fire  went  all  over  the  fields, 
and  up  as  far  as  the  old  quarry.  Not  one  bushel  remains. 
If  I  had  not  put  so  much  in  wheat  this  year!" 

"You  think  that  we  owe  all  this  to  some  one?  You 
think  that  it  was  set  on  fire  ?" 

"It  must  have  been." 

"Where  is  there  such  a  person?" 

"I  don't  know.     Do  you?" 

"I  can't  imagine." 

Susanna's  reply  was  without  reservation,  and  Job  looked 

153 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

away  so  that  she  should  not  see  that  he  had  a  sus- 
picion. 

"What  did  Jonathan  do  ?"  she  asked. 

"What  he  could.     He  worked  like  a  man." 

"It  is  strange,  that  with  all  this,  Antony  does  not  come 
home." 

"He  is  not  here,"  said  Job,  and  walked  out. 

Jesse  took  it  quietly;  and  Susanna  allowed  no  one  to  re- 
place her,  and  did  not  leave  him.  There  seemed  to  be  no 
reason  for  moving;  nothing  better,  indeed,  in  the  world, 
than  to  watch  him,  hours  later,  fall  asleep.  It  was  after 
dawn  when  she  went  out  into  the  kitchen,  which  was  half 
lighted  by  rainy  light,  and  found  Jonathan  collapsed  in  a 
chair  and  looking  as  if  the  weight  of  the  whole  day  and  night 
were  on  him,  and  Bertha  busy  about  the  room.  His  mother 
heard  him  say: 

"If  only  I  could  have  saved  the  horses!" 

"That  no  one  could  have  done;  it  was  too  late.  You 
did  all  that  was  possible." 

"I  saw  some  of  them  when  I  tried  to  go  in.  It  was  hell 
for  them,  and  they  did  not  deserve  it.  I  hear  their  screams 
now.  Poor  old  white  Kitty,  who  worked  for  us  twenty 
years!  And  Antony's  black — " 

"No  man  could  have  done  more  than  you,  indeed." 

"And  to  have  to  close  the  door  on  those  poor  creatures! 
To  close  the  door,  and  stand  in  idleness,  and  watch  the 
whole  thing  burn!" 

Susanna  thought,  "My  son  Jonathan  goes  to  her  to 
lament,  and  does  not  come  to  me." 

There  was  time  for  no  more.  All  three  put  themselves 
aside  at  a  sound  which  manifested  itself:  steps  and  loud 
breathing,  merely;  but  the  breathing  desperate,  the  steps 

154 


HOUSES    OF    CLAY 

laden.  Susanna  reached  the  outer  door  first,  flung  it  open, 
and  met  Job.  His  eyes  were  large  and  bright  in  his  smoked 
face,  the  working  of  his  lips  twitched  his  beard.  On  his 
back,  sustaining  him  with  difficulty  with  his  burnt  hands, 
he  carried  Antony.  The  ashy  fields  which  they  had  crossed 
were  wide,  the  slope  slippery,  the  road  long.  He  laid  him 
down  now.  Then  he  himself  began  to  sink;  and  his  other 
son  caught  him  and  helped  him  to  a  chair,  and  later  helped 
him  to  leave  it.  For  days  he  helped  him  so. 

During  those  days  the  inmates  of  the  afflicted  house  sat 
at  meals,  lay  down,  and  rose  for  hours  that  would  bring 
sorrow,  under  such  pressure  of  crowded  calamities  that 
even  the  appearance  of  their  surroundings  was  appalling. 
It  was  as  if  the  desolation  of  each  mind  were  materialized 
there.  Familiar  windows  displayed  a  view  from  which 
there  was  no  escape :  of  the  shaky  ruins  of  the  barn,  which 
the  forlorn  willow-trees  could  only  half  hide,  and  of  corn- 
fields waving  green  beside  the  broad  black  stretch  where 
the  wheat  had  been  consumed.  Within,  all  the  pictures 
and  the  mirrors  had  been  turned  toward  the  wall  in  sign  of 
mourning,  and  were  a  continual  reminder  through  the  slow 
time  when  the  active  presence  of  the  living  was  less  real 
than  the  presence  of  the  two  who  lay  still  upon  their  sepa- 
rate beds.  The  one  of  these  had  not  been  told  about  the 
other;  and  why  Jesse  never  mentioned  Antony  was  a  puz- 
zle to  the  rest,  who  feared  that  he  would  do  so  whenever, 
with  a  great  effort,  he  uttered  a  few  words.  To  Susanna, 
to  Jonathan,  and  to  Bertha  the  one  thing  to  be  hoped  was 
that  he  should  die  without  too  great  pain,  and  without 
knowing  the  truth.  The  latter  two  whispered  how  ironical 
it  was  that  the  omniscient  Jesse  should  be  ignorant  of  such 
a  matter;  and  that  it  seemed  that  he  must  know  what  lay 

155 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

in  the  house  with  him;  and  that  he  would  find  his  destina- 
tion enhanced  by  Antony's  presence.  This  idea  gave  pleas- 
ure to  Jonathan,  who  needed  all  the  comfort  that  he  could 
get,  for  he  was  exhausted  in  every  way.  Since  the  night  of 
the  fire,  when  he  had  exerted  himself  demoniacally,  all  his 
will-power  had  been  needed  only  to  propel  him;  and  what 
he  carried  in  the  way  of  recollections  and  anticipations  was 
too  much  for  any  man.  His  state  was  the  cause  of  extra 
anxiety  to  Bertha,  who  was  now  involved  a  second  time  in 
exterminating  misfortunes.  She  would  find  herself  weeping, 
in  her  bed  at  night,  involuntary  tears.  Were  they  for  her 
own  people  or  for  these  people  ?  Sometimes  they  seemed 
to  be  for  all  the  world;  sometimes  for  herself  and  her  part 
in  this  coil;  often  for  the  excluded  Esther,  who  had  given 
up  her  right  of  participation.  So  far  had  Bertha  identified 
herself  with  the  Heiligs  that  she  conformed  to  the  curious 
habit  of  reticence  which  now  kept  them  apart  from  each 
other,  under  the  influence  of  a  common  dread  of  discovering 
who  had  made  the  fire;  no  one  questioned  about  anything, 
because  they  were  afraid  of  what  they  would  find.  With- 
out embarrassment  she  had  volunteered  to  tell  her  part  in 
that  night's  history:  how  Jonathan  had  taken  her  place 
beside  Jesse;  how  she  had  then  gone  to  her  room,  but  not 
to  bed,  because  she  did  not  feel  able  to  sleep;  how,  as  she 
sat  there  in  the  dark,  her  attention  had  been  attracted  by 
an  unusual  light  in  the  barn,  and  by  the  flare-up  of  the  near- 
est wheat-field,  when  she  had  gone  running  to  Job.  That 
was  all  she  said,  and  she  did  not  do  her  heavy  daily  work 
with  the  complex  manner  of  a  secret-holder. 

No  help  for  anybody  came  from  Job;  he  was  not  himself. 
All  day  he  sat  preoccupied,  making  no  attempt  to  rise  from 
his  chair,  and  speaking  only  in  monosyllabic  answer  to  the 

156 


HOUSES    OF    CLAY 

innumerable  relatives  and  friends  who  condoled;  and 
when  he  was  consulted  he  postponed  every  suggestion — 
would  not  have  the  fields  cleared  or  the  barn  touched,  would 
say  nothing  about  Antony — until  they  were  obliged,  in  his 
presence,  to  disregard  him.  Something  pre-eminent,  at 
which  he  must  look  and  look,  seemed  to  have  crowded  his 
patriarchal  responsibilities  out  of  his  mind;  although  he 
was  the  patriarch  still,  he  was  an  indifferent  one.  He  ap- 
peared immitigably  unhappy. 

And  Susanna  played  a  fine  part.  Knowing  only  what 
she  had  witnessed  of  these  catastrophes,  knowing  also  that 
all  the  others  were  better  informed,  she  acted  on  her  per- 
ception that  now  was  the  time  to  demonstrate  her  ideal  of  a 
wife.  Information  was  nothing  to  her  beside  that:  infor- 
mation would  restore  her  nothing;  and  when  they  were 
able  they  would  speak  without  prompting.  So  she  did  not 
question  much,  even  in  her  own  mind;  addressed  Bertha 
as  usual  if  infrequently;  and  respected  perfectly  the  over- 
whelmed silence  of  her  husband  and  of  her  son.  All  the 
while  she  was  doing  her  duty  as  mistress,  with  a  wrung 
heart,  receiving  visitors  in  throngs,  and  offering  as  best  she 
could  consolation  and  assistance  to  her  men.  According 
to  her  theory  of  conduct,  this  was  the  bearing  of  the  aristo- 
crat. 

But  for  Antony  she  could  do  nothing  any  more. 

It  was  a  special  grief  to  her  that  Job  made  no  move  tow- 
ard either  of  his  sons,  and  did  not  break  his  silence  for  them. 
On  the  last  morning  of  Antony's  visibility  she  led  him  to 
the  room  where  their  eldest  lay,  and  they  looked  at  him 
together.  Job  said  then: 

"Why  did  God  waste  Antony?" 

At  that  moment  he  did  not  seem  to  be  her  husband;   it 

157 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

was  like  having  a  stranger  there.  Presently  she  found  her- 
self alone  with  her  son;  and  she  could  look  at  him,  and  set 
no  limit  to  her  grief  except  that  of  sound,  and  no  one  would 
know  unless  Antony  knew;  but  what  she  felt  showed  itself 
not  at  all.  This  that  lay  before  her  was  the  climax  of  her 
misfortunes. 

There  was  no  sign  of  impairment  upon  him  except  a  clean 
bandage  on  one  hand.  The  blackness  of  his  hair  and  lashes 
was  more  lustrous  than  the  black  folds  which  covered  him, 
and  which,  to  clothe  his  magnificence,  had  to  be  wide  and 
long.  He  was  dusky  and  still,  but  not  more  so  than  she 
was  used  to  see  him;  apparently  he  was  as  much  there  as 
he  had  ever  been,  and  she  could  not  believe  that  he  had 
come  to  an  end.  It  seemed  an  evil  prodigality  to  inhume 
such  a  creature  as  he. 

She  thought  of  the  earth,  and  how  he  had  known  its 
needs  and  its  fruition,  and  that  it  had  still  a  secret  for  him 
which  it  would  soon  impart. 

She  thought  of  him  as  a  product  of  her  flesh,  and  as  a 
spirit  with  possibilities  beyond  her  spirit. 

She  leaned  over  him  as  if  he  were  a  little  boy  in  bed, 
sinking  her  head  lower  and  lower,  until  her  face  lay  in  the 
folds  on  his  breast,  and  holding  him  by  the  shoulder  and 
the  uninjured  hand.  She  did  not  make  a  sound.  What 
her  body  had  felt  at  his  birth  her  robbed  soul  felt  now. 

Scarcely  could  she  leave  him  long  enough  to  prepare  her- 
self to  accompany  him,  and  she  hastened  back  to  sit  at  his 
side.  Antony,  as  he  lay  there,  was  not  more  dark  and 
stately  than  she;  both  had  the  dignity  of  those  who  meet 
great  odds,  independent  of  the  outcome  of  the  meeting,  and 
beyond  the  common  world.  Now  for  the  first  time  in  days 
she  exacted  nothing  of  herself.  She  sat  still,  and  Philip  en- 

158 


HOUSES    OF    CLAY 

tered  in  his  robes,  ungreeted  by  her;  and  when  the  other 
relatives  came,  she  did  not  lift  her  eyes.  Elias  and  Cassan- 
dra, Henrietta  and  Heman,  all  respected  her  so  much  as 
not  to  approach  her,  nor  did  they  disturb  Job;  the  glances 
by  which  they  tried  to  see  how  to  show  sympathy  with  their 
brother  and  sister  were  sufficient  proofs  of  loyalty. 

No  one  else  was  to  come.  Half  the  county  had  heard  by 
this  time  of  the  troubles  of  the  Heiligs,  and  that  the  dead 
brother  must  be  put  away  without  the  usual  concourse 
lest  the  other  brother  should  know  and  be  hurried  in  his 
dying.  To  keep  Jesse  in  ignorance  it  had  been  arranged 
that  Bertha  should  stay  by  him,  as  she  had  done  before, 
with  all  the  doors  closed,  so  that  he  might  hear  nothing 
unusual  in  the  house,  and  with  a  name  ready  to  give  if  he 
roused  himself  long  enough  to  ask  for  whom  the  church- 
bell  was  tolled.  Susanna  consented  to  the  omission  of  the 
ceremonies  made  significant  to  her  by  long  association;  but 
this  small  gathering  and  surreptitious  farewell  affected  her 
like  a  slight  upon  her  son.  Although  she  saw  tears  on  Cas- 
sandra's cheeks,  and  that  her  sister  was  as  near  to  her  as 
she  could  be  without  intruding,  and  that  Jonathan  sat 
apart,  his  face  expressing,  in  accordance  with  successive 
thoughts,  the  higher  altitudes  of  regret;  yet  in  real  truth 
she  was  alone  with  Antony,  as  she  had  been  alone  with  him 
in  his  babyhood;  she  was  speaking  to  him,  and  he  was 
understanding. 

"When  I  thought  that  I  heard  the  angels  welcoming 
Jesse,  they  were  singing  for  you.  I  did  not  think  of  you. 
I  have  not  thought  of  you  enough.  Forgive  me.  They 
were  your  angels." 

But  she  could  not  be  left  undisturbed.  Bertha — coming 
in  with  deliberate  steadiness,  and  with  a  demeanor  that 

159 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

awaited  blame — approached,  and  with  permission  addressed 
her  mistress: 

"Jesse  has  found  out.  He  has  been  trying  to  talk.  He 
said  that  he  knew,  and  that  I  must  confirm  the  truth;  and 
I  did  so.  Now  he  insists  that  the  doors  shall  be  open,  so 
that  he  can  take  part  in  what  is  done  for  Antony.  What 
shall  I  do?  Shall  I  open  them?" 

Susanna  signed  affirmatively,  with  a  strange  look,  as  if 
she  could  not  conceive  of  such  a  world,  so  extraordinary  in 
its  useless  sorrow.  Bertha  opened  the  doors  wide.  The 
sublime  words  were  said,  and  it  was  time  to  go.  When 
they  set  out  there  began  in  the  next  valley  the  public  lamenta- 
tion of  the  church-bell,  and  she  heard  it  tolling  continually 
as  she  accompanied  Antony  in  state  to  his  finality;  and 
heard  it  in  anticipation  for  Jesse,  too. 

When  it  was  over — although  she  was  at  home  again, 
with  her  own  people  around  her,  and  Jesse  was  still  alive — 
her  likeness  to  a  being  unimplicated,  observing  with  amaze- 
ment the  workings  of  such  a  world,  did  not  diminish.  In- 
stead of  immediately  replacing  Bertha,  she  allowed  Jona- 
than to  conduct  her  to  the  room  where  Job  had  resumed  his 
chair  and  his  undiscoverable  thoughts.  Philip  and  Elias 
sat  on  either  side  of  him;  Heman,  Henrietta,  and  Cassandra 
were  not  so  near;  the  Heiligs  were  in  session,  and  main- 
tained distinctions.  Behind  the  forward-gazing  eyes  of 
some  and  the  lowered  lids  of  others  a  variety  of  expect- 
ancies grew.  More  than  one  noted  and  awaited  develop- 
ments from  the  mood  of  Susanna,  whose  rank  in  the  as- 
semblage was  certain,  her  adherence  not  so;  and  there  was 
not  one  who  did  not  find  bewildering  the  contrast  between 
Job  Heilig,  who  had  ridden  hard  through  the  county  and 
sat  without  self-depreciation  among  the  elders,  and  the 

160 


HOUSES    OF    CLAY 

denuded  being  who  seemed  only  half  aware  that  they  were 
there.  That  corded  hand  with  bluish  nails,  lying  on  the 
unsteady  knee,  could  not  lift  a  whip,  thought  Heman. 

"Brother,  it  is  hard  for  us  to  believe  that  this  is  you," 
said  Elias. 

As  if  claiming  membership  in  the  aristocracy  of  grief,  he 
replied: 

"lam  JobHeilig." 

Cassandra,  decorously  withdrawn  and  preserving  the 
proper  feminine  silence,  thought:  "Why  Job  instead  of 
Heman  ?  Why  is  not  the  thriftless  house  afflicted  ?  From 
those  six  children  one  or  two  could  have  been  spared 
better  than  from  the  Heilig  men,  my  husband's  brother's 
sons." 

Philip  spoke  in  his  turn:  "Brother,  we  earnestly  wish 
that  we  could  comfort  you;  but  we  cannot.  The  Lord 
God  himself  must  do  that." 

"God—"  said  Job. 

His  tone  startled  Elias.  "Brother,  be  careful  of  your 
words  and  of  your  thoughts.  These  troubles  are  severe, 
but  they  have  surely  come  by  your  own  fault.  You  have 
neglected  something." 

"You  see  my  fields  burned  over  and  my  barn  burned 
down;  my  youngest  son  lies  dying  on  his  bed;  my  eldest 
you  have  just  now  assisted  me  to  put  into  the  grave;  and 
you  say  that  I  have  neglected  something!" 

"Ja,  ja!  You  have  been  negligent,  or  else  you  are  pun- 
ished for  a  sin  done  in  secret,  brother,  and  it  concerns  us, 
for  these  afflictions  bring  suspicion  on  us  all — us  Heiligs!" 

"But  this  punishment  is  a  good  thing,  for  when  a  wrong- 
doing is  punished  the  matter  is  at  an  end  and  is  not  charged 
up.  Without  doubt  it  is  a  good  thing,  and  might  have  been 

161 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

much  worse,"  Cassandra's  sweet,  powerful  voice  endorsed 
her  husband. 

Between  her  reddened  lids  Henrietta's  eyes  sparkled. 
"Your  idea  is  harsh.  A  man  may  easily  make  mistakes; 
for  instance,  he  may  be  overlenient  with  his  children;  but 
that  is  the  error  of  a  kind  father,  and  should  be  judged 
accordingly." 

"It  may  be  that  this  man  is  under  correction  for  some- 
thing which  he  would  be  sorry  to  have  us  know,  or  it  may 
not,"  said  Heman.  "However  that  is,  some  trouble  for 
him  was  to  be  expected,  because  it  never  happens  that  one 
man  goes  striding  uninterruptedly  through  the  world  where 
the  rest  must  make  their  way  with  difficulty.  No.  Sooner 
or  later  the  turn  to  suffer  comes  to  all  of  us,  else  we  should 
be  too  unbearably  proud.  And  it  must  be  faced." 

There  was  a  confusion  of  replies.  No  voice  was  raised; 
but  they  were  deeply  in  earnest,  and  did  not  wait  upon  each 
other.  Philip  asserted  himself: 

"What  you  say,  Heman,  is  unkindly  meant,  but  there  is 
truth  in  it.  Troubles  have  come  to  our  brother  as  they 
come  to  all  of  us,  and  we  must  stand  like  men,  and  so  he 
has  and  will." 

Another  interlude  of  quick  replies,  all  adjudicative  of 
Job,  was  ended  by  Jonathan,  who  assumed  an  elaborate 
manner  to  insult  his  elders. 

"I  have  read  how  pleasant  it  is  to  sit  in  a  warm  house 
beside  the  ocean  and  watch  a  ship  going  to  pieces  in  a 
storm.  That  was  written  long  ago;  but  it  seems  to  be 
true  still." 

Chiding  looks  bombarded  him;  but  Susanna,  interposing, 
drew  their  fire.  She  was  clear  about  the  wife's  point  of 
honor  when  the  husband  was  attacked  from  without. 

162 


HOUSES    OF    CLAY 

"If  you  have  not  learned  to  stand  by  one  of  your  own, 
and  if  you  can  think  of  nothing  better  than  to  blame  him 
for  his  miseries,  then  you  might  as  well  be  common  people, 
and  not  Heiligs." 

Astonished  by  the  double  attack,  the  censors  would  have 
responded,  and  the  first  words  were  being  said  when  Job 
began  to  speak: 

"I  am  pretty  tired  of  you  all,  with  your  ostentatious  com- 
fortings,  sitting  by  me,  and  discovering  in  my  conduct  the 
reasons  for  my  misfortune;  although  I  admit  that  it  is  a 
good  thing  that  you  see  these  negligences  and  these  secret 
sins  and  this  unbearable  pride,  and  repent  of  them,  and  keep 
up  the  standards  of  virtue  and  piety  in  the  Heilig  family. 
Now  I  shall  ask  you — since  it  is  you  who  know,  and  not  I — 
what  have  I  done  ?  Have  I  taken  what  is  not  mine  ?  Have 
I  betrayed  a  woman  or  done  injustice  to  a  man  ?  Have  I 
refused  charity,  from  the  dues  of  the  church  to  the  tramp 
at  the  gate  ?  Have  I  ill-treated  my  land  or  my  stock  ?  Have 
I  in  any  small  instance  failed  to  push  the  interests  of  my 
children  ?  You  all  sit  silent,  and  look  horrified.  No,  to 
all  that  ?  Then  what  ?" 

As  he  began  to  rise,  Jonathan  in  amazement  moved  to 
assist  him,  but  he  was  already  on  his  feet. 

"I  was  prepared  for  your  charges.  I  thought  that  you 
would  come  to  sit  in  judgment  on  me.  What  is  your  judg- 
ment to  me  now  ?  My  crops  are  wasted,  my  sons  lie  dead 
and  dying;  and  now  I  feel  that  I  am  an  old  man;  I  shall 
have  no  more  sons.  My  children  have  brought  my  troubles 
on  me!  My  efforts  for  them  have  failed,  and  I  must  be 
ashamed  of  their  undisciplined  natures,  and  ashamed  of 
my  failure  to  guide  and  coerce  them.  If  it  had  been  flood 
or  lightning  or  any  such  evidence  of  the  wrath  of  God,  I 

163 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

could  have  stood  up  under  it;  but  through  my  own  chil- 
dren! And  to  be  ashamed  of  them!" 

He  had  been  becoming  less  and  less  recognizable,  and 
now  the  last  sign  of  his  moral  identity  passed  away. 

"That  is  not  all.  Perhaps  I  do  not  know  myself,  and 
perhaps  I  am  the  evil-doer  you  think  me,  because  now  I 
am  certain  about  nothing.  I  have  done  the  best  I  could, 
and  look  at  what  has  happened  to  me!  What  should  I 
have  done  ?  After  I  had  gone  so  far  through  life  success- 
fully, now  comes  God  and  spoils  it  all!  How  can  a  man 
live,  once  God  goes  back  on  him  ?" 

His  tongue  halted.  For  many  sentences  the  unsuccessful 
patriarch  had  not  been  speaking  to  his  peers,  but  to  the  air, 
the  light,  to  something  divined  by  him.  However,  there 
were  mortals  to  reply,  and  instantly,  in  an  outburst  of  sin- 
cere horror: 

"What  is  he  driving  at  ?  Does  he  mean  that  his  teachings 
to  his  children  have  miscarried  ?" 

"He  means  nothing;  he  is  beside  himself.  That  is  the 
kindest  thing  that  you  can  say  of  him." 

"He  has  always  thought  that  he  and  the  Lord  worked 
in  partnership." 

"Grief  makes  him  act  in  this  wild  way." 

"Yes;  but  first  there  was  something  for  grief  to  work 
on.  No  man  could  be  as  righteous  as  he  thought  himself." 

Although  both  Susanna  and  Jonathan  were  on  the  point 
of  defending  him,  the  continuation  of  his  speech,  during 
which  he  did  not  support  himself  by  anything  and  stood 
as  firmly  as  he  had  ever  stood,  made  them  silent  with  the 
rest. 

"If  you  had  wanted  to  behave  like  brothers,  now  would 
have  been  your  time,  for  no  man  needs  loyalty  more  than 

164 


HOUSES    OF    CLAY 

I;  but  instead,  in  your  prosperity,  you  make  this  an  occa- 
sion to  instruct  and  blame  me  as  you  had  no  chance  to  do 
before.  Therefore,  since  you  are  all  so  virtuous,  I  advise 
you  not  to  associate  with  me,  for  if  you  do  you  may  be  con- 
taminated, or  you  may  find  yourselves  in  the  circle  of  wrath 
which  now  I  occupy  alone.  Go!  Every  one  of  you!  My 
land  is  damaged,  but  it  is  still  my  land;  my  house  is  a 
mournful  house,  but  I  own  it!  Do  not  set  foot  again  on 
what  is  mine!  Go,  before  I  drive  you  out!" 

The  energy  of  his  pose,  when  he  had  been  so  feeble  for 
days,  and  of  his  speech,  taxing  the  resources  of  the  dialect 
as  Hebrew  patriarchs  must  have  taxed  theirs  at  times  of 
reckoning,  astonished  his  hearers  so  much  that  they  could 
not  obey  him.  Seeing  them  all  motionless  as  if  they  re- 
fused to  go,  he  ordered: 

"Jonathan!    You  are  the  last  of  my  sons.    Getthemout!" 

Jonathan's  one  desire  was  to  do  anything  on  earth  which 
that  tragic  man  commanded;  and  as  the  others  still  did 
not  relieve  the  situation,  he  made  a  movement  to  obey. 
No  more  was  necessary;  at  once  the  room  was  full  of  large, 
black  forms  in  motion.  Cassandra  went  out  first,  her  head 
high  and  red  patches  on  her  cheek-bones;  Elias  followed, 
weeping;  Henrietta  looked  thunderstruck;  and  Heman  un- 
consciously smiled.  The  last  to  go  was  Philip,  who  turned 
and  waited  for  a  relenting  gesture;  but  the  gesture,  which 
was  quickly  made,  repeated  his  eviction,  and  he  walked  out, 
unoffended. 

Jonathan,  whose  part  had  consisted  of  frustrated  efforts 
to  aid,  and  of  sympathy  halting  through  lack  of  compre- 
hension, now  made  another  attempt  to  replace  his  father  in 
the  chair;  but  his  help  was  not  needed.  The  spasmodic 
strength  had  not  yet  died  out  of  Job. 

165 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

"Now  I  shall  go,"  he  announced. 

"Not  now,"  said  Susanna.     "Sit  down  again." 

All  his  newly  recovered  faculties  were  at  her  service 
immediately.  "What  do  you  wish  to  talk  about,  Susanna  ?" 
he  asked,  with  courtesy. 

"Jonathan,  go  out  of  the  room.  Job,  now  the  time  has 
come  to  settle  the  account  between  you  and  me." 

Her  countenance  acquired  no  softness  during  the  in- 
vestigating look  which  passed  between  them,  nor  at  his 
assent:  "Say  what  you  have  to  say;  but  while  you  speak, 
remember  that  we  have  been  man  and  wife  a  long  time." 

"We  have.  Our  friends,  including  my  sister,  have  just 
now  been  driven  from  our  house  with  insults;  and  this, 
although  it  will  be  a  great  loss  daily  felt  by  me,  you  did 
to  please  yourself,  Job,  and  I  must  take  the  consequences. 
There  have  been  other  consequences  also  for  me  to  take." 

"Dear  wife,  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"What  have  you  done  with  my  children?  Now  I  have 
waited  long  enough  upon  your  feelings,  and  I  expect  you 
to  tell  me  in  plain  words  what  happened  to  Jesse  and  to 
Antony  ?" 

"About  Jesse  I  know  no  more  than  you;  the  reasons  for 
not  questioning  Jonathan  and  Bertha  were  your  reasons. 
These  are  the  facts  about  Antony:  he  spent  that  day  in 
drinking,  and  that  night  when  he  came  home  he  acknowl- 
edged that  Jesse's  condition  was  owing  to  him,  but  nothing 
further  would  he  say.  When  I  insisted  he  refused,  with 
insults;  and  then  he  said  that  he  intended  to  leave  the 
Thai,  and  carried  his  insults  so  much  further  that  I  thorough- 
ly chastised  him.  After  that  he  walked  away,  and  I  went 
to  meet  the  doctor.  That  is  absolutely  all  that  I  know." 

"So  you  chastised  him?" 

1 66 


HOUSES    OF    CLAY 

"He  richly  deserved  it." 

"After  it  he  walked  away  from  his  home  in  the  dark,  and 
walked  over  the  edge  of  the  quarry;  and  he  is  dead.  I 
ask  you,  if  you  had  treated  my  son  Antony  like  a  man,  and 
not  like  an  ill-disposed  little  boy,  would  this  have  happened  ? 
Would  he  not  have  been  with  us  still  ?" 

"That  may  be  your  view  of  it,  Susanna;  but  at  the  most, 
you  cannot  charge  me  with  the  others.  Jesse — " 

"There  is  no  doubt  that  the  fight  was  over  this  girl. 
Who  brought  her  into  our  home,  where  we  were  so  happy  ?" 

"Is  it  possible  that  you  blame  me  for  all  this  ?" 

"Look,  Job!  What  is  left  of  our  home?  Our  friends 
are  driven  away;  our  daughter  and  our  sons  depart.  All 
the  shelters  which  we  had  for  our  old  age  are  crumbling 
and  breaking:  the  wealth  which  gives  old  people  importance; 
our  old,  old  friendships,  which  would  have  kept  us  from 
loneliness;  our  children,  in  whom  we  should  have  continued 
to  live;  they  are  all  gone,  and  you  have  done  it.  Who  did 
it,  if  not  you  ?" 

"Will  you  not  agree  that  God  has  done  it?" 

"No.  I  never  knew  you  to  shirk  responsibilities  before. 
Do  not  try  to  put  it  off  on  God.  Now,  I  have  been  patient 
for  these  five  months,  and  I  think  that  that  is  long  enough. 
I  intend  to  have  my  way." 

Job  stared  at  her  as  if  he  did  not  know  her,  and  did  not 
interfere  when  she  summoned  Jonathan  and  told  him  to 
call  Bertha.  Jonathan  looked  from  one  of  them  to  the 
other,  and  appealed  to  the  girl  to  come  quickly.  "I  think 
that  both  my  parents  are  going  mad,  after  what  has  hap- 
pened to  them,"  he  said. 

Presently  he  was  agonized  because  he  had  brought  her. 
When  she  came  in  Job  was  still  alert,  and  it  would  have 
"  167 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

been  hard  to  perceive  in  eye  and  mouth  the  first  small  signs 
of  a  relaxation  of  the  faculties  more  serious  than  the  one 
from  which  he  had  just  recovered. 

Susanna  sat  beside  him;  hers  was  the  seat  of  judgment, 
before  which  Bertha,  the  disintegrating  force  embodied, 
came  to  stand.  She  had  made  haste  to  be  of  whatever  use 
she  could,  and  her  paleness  was  not  for  herself,  nor  had 
the  tears  been  for  herself  which  still  showed  on  her  lashes. 
Susanna's  controlled  fury  leaped  at  those  tears. 

She  said,  "How  dare  you  weep  ?" 

Susanna  was  preponderant;  but  Bertha's  clear  look  en- 
countered her,  and  she  returned,  in  the  tone  of  an  equal, 
"What  do  you  mean?" 

The  elder  woman  did  not  condescend  to  answer,  observ- 
ing the  other  from  her  chair,  and  allowing  her  repulsion 
to  be  visible. 

As  this  ordeal  continued,  Bertha  made  a  series  of  light- 
ning-quick guesses  at  the  meaning  of  the  scene,  and  gathered 
self-control,  but  not  resentment.  A  veritable  passion  of 
pity  for  Job  rendered  her  indifferent  to  herself;  and  she 
was  ready  to  welcome  seventy  when  she  thought,  "What 
they  say  to  me  may  not  be  just;  but  Jesse  heard  about 
Antony  from  me;  and  if  they  knew  my  part  with  Esther, 
all  that  they  could  say  would  be  justified." 

She  had  gotten  so  far  when  Susanna  removed  her  eyes 
from  her  and,  with  acute  insult,  spoke  across  her  to  Job, 
as  if  she  were  a  chattel : 

"On  the  day  when  you  first  told  me  about  her,  I  was 
afraid;  it  seemed  to  me  then  that  you  met  trouble  on  the 
Blaueberg,  and  you  did.  See  what  has  happened  since 
she  came!  If  you  ask  me  how  I  know,  I  tell  you  that  a 
mother  understands  her  children's  dangers.  Would  it  have 

168 


HOUSES    OF    CLAY 

gone  so  with  Esther  if  this  other  girl  had  not  come  to  make 
her  jealous  ?  Would  Jonathan  have  put  aside  our  wishes 
for  him  and  stayed  at  home  if  this  new  face  had  not  de- 
cided him  ?  And  I  know  well  whose  doing  it  is  that  Jesse 
and  Antony  lie  where  they  lie.  She  provoked  that  fight. 
Perhaps  it  is  a  relief  to  her  that  Antony  is  gone." 

The  whole  statement  was  so  detestably  like  truth!  Noth- 
ing was  clear  to  Bertha  except  the  revelation  of  her  com- 
plicity. 

Susanna  addressed  her  at  last:  "You  have  done  enough 
here.  Take  your  things  and  go.  You  hurt  my  eyes." 

To  the  need  for  action  her  nature  responded  automatically. 
She  did  not  know  what  to  think,  but  she  knew  what  to  do. 

"Mother,  I  will  not  have  it!"  Jonathan  was  saying. 
Bertha  silenced  him,  and  also  stopped  Susanna's  con- 
temptuous reply. 

"I  refuse  to  go." 

"No  doubt  you  would  prefer  to  stay.  I  have  still  one 
son  for  you  to  ruin." 

"Do  you  think  that  I  would  stay  to  force  myself  on  him  ? 
To  prove  to  you  that  I  do  not  shall  be  a  part — 

"Do  you  think  that  I  would  allow  you  another  oppor- 
tunity ?"  said  Susanna,  with  a  crushing  imputation. 

Beside  this  suddenly  presented  and  absorbing  problem 
of  her  complicity,  attacks  from  without  were  insignificant; 
and  she  made  her  declaration  quite  thoughtfully: 

"That  such  charges  could  be  brought  against  me  I  never 
dreamed;  but  I  see  that  they  have  a  foundation.  I  will  not 
leave  this  place  until  I  have  made  amends  for  the  injury 
which  I  have  ignorantly  done." 

"What  can  you  do?     Only  take  yourself  away!" 

"I  will  not." 

169 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

"Job,  do  you  permit  me  to  be  tormented  longer  by  this 
mischief-maker  ?" 

"Mr.  Heilig,  can  you,  as  a  just  man,  deny  me  the  right 
to  do  what  I  can  to  make  up  for  what  I  have  brought  about 
most  unconsciously  ?" 

Jonathan  put  in,  "Mother,  she  shall  stay,  or  I  will  go 
too,  in  spite  of  everything,"  but  Susanna,  waiting  for  Job's 
answer,  seemed  not  to  hear  him. 

"Susanna,  we  cannot  disallow  her  claim.  She  appeals  to 
right  and  justice,"  said  Job. 

"Now  what  am  I  to  think  when  you  turn  out  your 
brothers  and  my  sister,  and  keep  this  girl  in  the  house 
against  my  will?  It  seems  that  it  is  time  for  me  to  go!" 
exclaimed  Susanna. 

There  was  an  opposition  of  set  faces.  Then  Job  said, 
"She  shall  stay." 

Jonathan  repeated,  "She  shall  stay." 

In  his  upper  room  Jesse's  bell  rung,  and  Bertha,  without 
a  look  to  beg  permission,  went  to  wait  on  him. 

Susanna  proudly  submitted. 


XII 

THE  OWNER   SITS   UNDER  THE  APPLE-TREE 

AT  half-past  four  o'clock  the  sun  was  still  high,  and  the 
Thai  and  the  quiet  mountains  were  covered  with  hot 
light.  No  more  violent  movement  was  perceptible  than 
the  straight  rise  of  chimney-smoke  undisturbed  by  any 
wind;  the  cows  in  pasture  changing  their  feeding-places; 
and  the  slow  progress  of  a  farm-wagon  driven  by  a  boy 
and  accompanied  by  a  cloud  of  dust.  Flaunting  on  its 
stalks  along  the  road-side,  as  if  it  longed  to  dance  away, 
the  orange-colored  butterfly-weed  was  the  most  restless 
thing  in  the  valley. 

There  were  no  sounds  of  work;  an  inappropriate  silence 
prevailed.  As  the  flames  had  left  them,  the  wheat-fields 
remained;  the  half-demolished  barn  walls  were  still  stand- 
ing, surrounded  by  ashes  and  various  charred  objects,  and 
scenting  the  air  with  smoke;  and  a  couple  of  wagons  stood 
shelterless  beside  the  road  near  where  the  wagon-shed  had 
been.  Job's  one  patch  of  rye  had  escaped  the  fire,  owing 
to  its  situation  in  a  far  corner  of  the  farm,  but  the  heads 
were  empty  and  brittle,  the  grain  was  already  germinating 
on  the  ground,  and  that  crop  was  gone  as  entirely  as  the 
wheat.  The  mill  was  closed.  Every  day  customers  came 
driving  up,  and  drove  away  again,  carrying  their  grain- 
sacks  to  other  mills,  and  also  carrying  the  news  about  the 
Heiligs. 

171 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

The  house  had  a  peculiar  expression.  It  was  not  shut 
up,  as  in  a  period  of  mourning,  nor  did  it  appear  unin- 
habited; it  looked  as  if  it  were  the  abode  of  expectation- 
less  beings  not  human  who  glided  about  their  occupations; 
cheerful  sounds  and  the  odors  of  food  would  have  been  as 
much  out  of  place  there  as  in  fields  of  asphodel.  When 
Jonathan  returned  to  it,  he  had  not  the  feeling  of  coming 
home;  and  gazing  at  it  now  from  the  steps  of  the  mill,  and 
at  all  the  defacing  changes  which  grew  more  serious  day  by 
day,  it  seemed  to  him  that  nothing  was  as  it  had  been  ex- 
cept the  light.  To  be  head  man  in  the  Thai  was  what  he 
would  have  wished  for  most;  but  the  Thai,  in  passing  from 
Antony's  control  to  his,  had  become  a  forlorn  charge. 
Hollow-eyed,  dusty,  and  heavy  in  his  boots,  though  he  stood 
and  told  himself  that  circumstances  would  improve,  he  did 
not  feel  that  they  would. 

His  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  the  sound  of  steps,  and 
he  turned  and  saw  coming  along  the  road  the  trust-inspiring 
figure  of  Philip  Heilig,  who  said,  warmly: 

"I  am  very  glad  to  find  you  here.  I  wanted  to  have  a 
little  talk  with  you  before  I  see  your  father." 

"  For  myself,  you  are  the  man  I  most  want  to  see,  Uncle 
Philip;  but  after  what  father  said  you  ought  not  to  be  here." 

"I  will  explain  my  coming.  In  the  mean  time  you  can 
shake  hands  with  me  without  disloyalty  as  a  son." 

Jonathan  did  so,  with  a  rush  of  cordiality,  making  haste, 
however,  to  conduct  his  uncle  around  the  corner  of  the 
mill,  after  which  he  awaited  the  beginning  of  the  con- 
versation. 

"How  is  Jesse?"  Philip  asked. 

"Not  worse;  he  talks  a  little  sometimes.  He  has  taken 
everything  with  wonderful  self-possession." 

172 


UNDER    THE    APPLE-TREE 

"How  is  your  mother?" 

"Not  sick."  Poor  Jonathan  could  not  report  more  cheer- 
fully than  by  negatives.  "She  takes  entire  care  of  Jesse, 
and  I  have  not  seen  her  give  way  once;  but —  Probably 
you  know  that  she  was  in  the  habit  of  walking  all  over  the 
house  every  day,  and  I  think  that  she  had  a  Thanksgiving 
each  time  that  she  did  it.  She  does  it  still.  I  suppose  you 
understand  what  a  thing  it  is  to  see." 

"I  do.  Now  that  all  this  has  come  on  them  when  they 
are  not  young,  what  a  good  thing  it  is  for  your  father  and 
mother  that  they  are  together." 

Jonathan  hesitated;  what  decided  him  to  speak  was  the 
wish  to  make  aware  of  the  situation  the  only  man  who 
could  possibly  cope  with  it.  "They  are  not  together." 

"How  so?" 

"Mother  has  turned  against  father,"  he  began;  and  told 
the  story  as  simply  as  possible,  with  slight  mention  of 
Bertha. 

"And  how  has  it  been  going  since?"  Philip  inquired, 
stroking  his  beard. 

"Ours  is  a  frightful  house.  From  morning  to  night  hard- 
ly a  word  is  said.  Bertha  keeps  things  going,  but  mother 
gives  her  no  directions,  and  never  seems  to  see  her  at  all. 
Mother  herself  spends  night  and  day  in  Jesse's  room  and 
the  room  next  to  it." 

"How  about  your  father?  And  why  do  you  not  begin 
the  necessary  work  on  the  place  ?" 

"  Because  father  will  not  allow  it.  The  place  is  as  it  is 
because  he  wants  to  have  it  so." 

"Do  you  think  that  he  has  gone  crazy,  Jonathan  ?" 

"It  looks  so  to  me.  Mother  does  not  speak  to  him,  nor 
he  to  her.  He  does  not  notice  anything.  In  the  morning 

173 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

I  help  him  to  his  chair,  on  the  porch  if  it  rains,  under  the 
Northern  Spy  apple-tree  if  it  is  pleasant;  and  there  he 
spends  the  day.  He  is  considering  something  constantly, 
and  if  I  want  to  speak  to  him  I  have  to  address  him  several 
times  to  get  his  attention,  and  the  interruption  annoys  him 
very  much.  Time  and  again  I  have  tried  to  make  him 
see  the  urgency  of  our  business,  and  he  will  only  listen  long 
enough  to  forbid  me  to  go  ahead.  For  some  reason  of  his 
own  he  has  put  an  embargo  on  the  Thai." 

"What  do  you  think  it  is  that  preoccupies  him  to  this 
extent  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  It  seems  as  if  nothing  should,  with  the 
farm  in  this  condition.  What  is  worse,  he  is  growing 
weaker.  He  has  fallen  away  inside  his  clothes,  and  he 
stoops  like  an  old  man.  And  before  this  he  never  would 
be  sick  half  a  day." 

"Have  you  thought  of  going  ahead  without  his  per- 
mission ?" 

"I  have  tried  it.  I  began  to  cut  the  rye  myself,  but  I 
had  to  stop;  and  this  afternoon  I  borrowed  a  horse — think 
of  having  to  borrow  a  horse! — and  went  to  see  the  only 
miller  I  can  hear  of  who  is  out  of  a  job.  From  him  I  got 
no  satisfaction  at  all.  It  is  evident  that  he  does  not  want 
to  come,  and  does  not  intend  to  come." 

"Do  you  know  why  ?" 

"Yes;  I  got  it  out  of  him.  We  have  had  one  fire  started, 
and  he  thinks  it  likely  that  we  shall  have  another,  since 
some  one  has  a  grudge  against  us.  He  says  he  could  not 
feel  safe  in  the  mill  any  night,  and  I  can't  blame  him.  All 
the  trade  will  be  gone  long  before  Jesse  gets  up — if,  indeed, 
he  ever  does.  Please  don't  walk  toward  the  house,  uncle ; 
father  might  see  you." 

174 


UNDER    THE    APPLE-TREE 

"If  he  did?" 

"You  will  understand  me  when  I  say  that  I  am  half  glad 
that  I  could  not  get  the  miller.  Father  is  unlike  anything 
you  ever  knew  of  him.  I  don't  want  to  see  him  so  worn 
out  as  he  was  when  he  had  finished  forbidding  me  to  go 
on  with  that  rye." 

"That  makes  my  business  here  more  difficult,  and  also 
more  necessary,"  said  Philip. 

He  did  not  state  it  at  once.  So  many  years  had  passed 
since  he  began  to  use  his  own  life  mainly  as  a  standpoint 
from  which  to  comprehend  and  assist  the  lives  of  other 
people,  that  he  was  able  to  do  justice  with  sympathy  to  all 
who  were  involved  in  this  emergency;  and  he  now  saw 
the  homestead  where  he  also  had  been  born  and  brought 
up,  and  which  he  was  forbidden  to  approach,  as  the  scene 
of  Promethean  revolts  against  faith  and  fact.  There  was 
even  something  heroic  about  the  young,  thin,  worried 
nephew. 

Jonathan  was  restless  in  the  pause,  and  ended  it  by  say- 
ing, "You  spoke  of  having  some  business,  uncle." 

"Yes.  This  afternoon  we  had  a  meeting  at  Heman's. 
We  talked  about  the  standstill  here,  which  we  had  all  heard 
of,  and  which  we  knew  must  have  a  serious  cause;  and  they 
selected  me  to  see  your  father,  and  tell  him  that  we  want 
to  help  him  out.  His  work  shall  be  done  without  giving 
him  any  care  whatever.  Elias  volunteered  to  take  charge 
of  the  rebuilding;  Heman  will  lend  horses  until  he  can 
buy  up  as  many  good  ones  as  you  need  to  restock,  and  he 
and  I  shall  look  after  the  harvesting;  the  rye  is  probably 
done  for,  but  the  oats  and  buckwheat  are  ready  for  us. 
Your  aunts  will  cook  for  the  builders  and  the  harvesters. 
You  will  be  free  to  do  whatever  else  needs  to  be  done;  for 

175 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

instance,  the  fence-making.  It  will  not  be  long  until  we 
have  the  Thai  looking  like  itself." 

"I  dare  say  they  would  all  enjoy  acting  the  charitable, 
and  telling  my  poor  father  about  his  sins  and  shortcomings," 
Jonathan  answered. 

"You  are  entirely  mistaken  there.  They  are  more  than 
willing — they  are  anxious  to  work  hard  for  you  out  of  pure 
good-will.  Your  Uncle  Elias  looks  ten  years  older  since 
this  happened,  and  he  regrets  constantly  the  fact  that  he 
blamed  your  father;  and  Heman — 

"I  have  no  doubt  that  Uncle  Heman  is  willing  to  buy  up 
horses  for  us.  He  would  not  lose  by  it." 

"He  is  just  as  willing  to  leave  his  own  work  and  come 
here  to  sweat  in  your  buckwheat-field;  he  will  not  make 
much  by  that.  All  this  is  a  great  concession  from  elderly 
people  who  are  used  to  respect,  and  who  were  turned  out 
with  insults.  You  had  better  include  that  side  of  it." 

"There  is  more  than  kindness  actuating  Uncle  Heman." 

"If  Heman  thinks  he  can  afford  to  make  overtures,  it  is 
no  wonder.  We  all  appraised  him  as  a  poor  scrub  for  a 
good  many  years,  and  he  was  shrewd  enough  to  know  it;  and 
now  he  astonishes  us  all  by  paying  cash  for  this  immense 
new  house.  The  fact  is,  that  as  soon  as  it  became  a  ques- 
tion of  giving  your  father  practical  assistance  there  was  just 
one  wish  in  the  party.  His  acceptance  of  their  offer  is  as 
important  to  them  as  it  is  to  him,  if  in  a  less  material  way; 
and  you  are  making  a  great  mistake  in  your  way  of  looking 
at  it,  my  dear  Jonathan." 

"Very  well.  I  shall  tell  father  what  you  say  immediately, 
and  then  you  can  judge  whether  you  had  better  see  him. 
I  would  do  nearly  anything  to  put  a  stop  to  this  state  of 
affairs.  We  are  notorious.  I  feel  the  people  I  meet  look- 

176 


UNDER    THE    APPLE-TREE 

ing  at  me  and  wondering  whether  they  dare  question  me; 
and  I  hear  that  we  have  been  mentioned  in  two  sermons, 
and  that  insurance  men  are  busy  making  out  fire-insurance 
policies  for  the  neighbors;  and  I  can  well  imagine  how  the 
old  men  moralize,  and  the  courting  couples  talk  us  over." 

"All  that  will  soon  end  of  itself.  Now  you  go  and  lay 
this  proposal  before  your  father,  and  I  shall  wait  here  until 
you  come  back." 

With  a  good  deal  of  hope,  and  fixing  his  eyes  eagerly 
upon  his  objective  point,  Jonathan  went  to  present  himself 
before  his  father  under  the  apple-tree. 

It  was  a  very  old  tree;  suited  by  much  witnessing  of  life 
to  be  the  shelter  and  companion  of  resultful  meditation,  the 
tree's  traditional  part.  Under  the  low,  thick  branches 
grass  could  not  grow,  and  the  bare  ground  supported  un- 
evenly the  wooden  arm-chair  in  which  Job  sat.  He  was 
not  leaning  against  the  chair-back,  and  his  hands  and  feet 
were  squarely  placed.  His  hands  looked  cold;  his  face 
was  neither  dull  nor  vacant,  but  completely  changed. 

Here  was  the  embodiment  of  the  arresting  will  which 
imposed  itself  upon  the  Thai.  Not  much  but  will  was  left 
of  Job.  Deductions  had  been  made  from  the  total  of  soul, 
mind,  body,  and  property  which  composed  the  multiple 
entity  Job  Heilig,  and  his  potentialities  were  decreased, 
even  in  the  direction  of  the  years  he  had  to  live.  The  ex- 
pression of  the  primitive  residuary  qualities  had  altered 
his  countenance. 

His  son  approached  and  waited  to  be  invited  to  speak, 
feeling  the  baffled  pity  which  he  always  felt  at  this  sight. 
After  he  had  waited  some  time,  and  had  moved  to  a  position 
directly  in  front  of  Job,  he  said,  "Father,"  and  repeated  it. 

"Well?" 

177 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

He  proceeded  quickly,  before  he  should  lose  the  attention 
thus  attracted:  "Uncle  Philip  is  here,  and  wants  supper." 

"Did  you  not  hear  me  send  him  out  of  my  house  ?" 

"Yes,  father;  but  he  asks  your  permission  to  come 
into  it  again." 

"I  refuse  it." 

"He  came  on  foot,  he  is  three  miles  from  home,  and 
he  is  hungry." 

"He  can  go  as  he  came.  If  he  is  hungry,  take  out  a 
cup  and  plate  to  him.  I  will  not  have  him  here.  What 
gives  you  the  right  to  expect  me  to  speak  twice  ?" 

"He  has  something  to  say  from  my  aunts  and  uncles. 
They  are  all  sorry  for  what  has  happened,  and  they  want 
to  assist  you,  so  they  ask  you  to  allow  them  to  do  your 
heavy  work.  Each  one  has  undertaken  a  share — " 

"So?  Jonathan,  you  seem  to  think  that  since  your 
brothers  are  out  of  business,  you  are  sole  owner.  These 
people  shall  not  come  here  before  you  carry  me  away;  and 
I  advise  you  to  remember  that  I  can  put  you  out,  both  be- 
fore and  after  that  event  takes  place.  I  am  not  incapable 
of  testing,  however  it  may  look  to  you.  Now  go." 

When  Jonathan,  in  spite  of  dejection  and  shame,  had 
stated  this  result  to  his  uncle,  Philip  disregarded  his  em- 
barrassed suggestions  for  making  the  journey  home  easier, 
and  put  minute  questions.  "It  is  hard  to  believe,"  he  said. 
"My  eldest  brother!  He  must  be  in  a  bad  way.  I  think 
that  I  shall  walk  over  and  see  him  now." 

"That  will  only  make  it  worse;  and  do  not,  on  any  ac- 
count, come  on  him  unexpectedly.  The  one  of  you  who 
does  that  assumes  a  bad  responsibility;  I  honestly  believe 
that  it  would  be  his  end.  When  he  made  me  leave  him 
just  now  he  was  shaking  and  sweating.  Let  the  Thai  go. 

178 


UNDER    THE    APPLE-TREE 

We  have  enough  to  live  if  the  mill  is  idle  and  the  crops 
wasted;   and  if  we  had  not,  all  belongs  to  father." 

"Very  well.  For  the  present  I  shall  make  no  effort 
to  see  him,  and  I  shall  dissuade  the  others  from  doing  so; 
but  in  my  opinion,  Jonathan,  there  has  been  altogether  too 
much  keeping  silent  here  to  avoid  trouble.  A  little  sensible 
talk  is  what  is  needed.  Now,  good-bye,  and  don't  get 
too  down-hearted." 

Philip  departed  quickly;  and  Jonathan,  feeling  hopeless 
of  anything,  decided  to  go  into  the  house.  Bertha  was  there. 
They  were  thrown  together  incessantly  now,  and  inter- 
course was  difficult,  because  he  never  saw  her  without  the 
impulse  to  demand  that  she  promise  herself  to  him,  and  be- 
cause he  believed  that  her  unbroken  gentleness  toward 
himself  was  a  cover  for  contempt.  He  turned  dark  red; 
but,  as  he  leaned,  without  any  designs  in  his  mind,  upon 
the  forlorn  table  which  she  had  spread  for  him  alone,  it 
occurred  to  him  that,  though  she  was  nothing  more,  she  was 
the  nearest  thing  to  a  friend  that  he  possessed.  Merely  for 
the  comfort  of  telling  it  to  her,  he  recounted  the  offer  and 
his  father's  rejection. 

"I  must  do  something,"  he  concluded,  "and  I  see 
neither  what  nor  how.  It  is  bad,  bad,  bad!" 

"I  have  been  thinking  about  the  work  which  should  be 
done  immediately,"  said  she. 

"Do  you  think  that  I  should  go  ahead  against  father's 
express  orders  ?" 

"I  do  not — not  after  what  happened  when  you  tried  to 
cut  the  rye.  If  you  could,  what  would  you  do  first  ?" 

"There  is  no  proper  beginning.  The  barn  should  be  re- 
built, the  grain  cut,  new  stock  bought,  and  the  mill  opened, 
all  at  once;  but  there  is  no  use  in  thinking  about  it." 

179 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

As  he  watched  her  his  eyes  implored,  "Oh,  Bertha,  be 
a  little  generous  with  yourself  to  a  man  tied  down!"  but 
hers  slipped  from  his  gaze  as  smoothly  as  always.  Presently 
she  went  out  and  did  not  come  back,  and  when  he  looked 
for  her  she  was  sitting  beside  his  father.  Disgusted  with 
himself  for  having  put  her  to  flight,  he  came  out  on  the 
porch  ostentatiously,  and  took  himself  away. 

She  saw  him  go,  but  she  did  not  move  from  where  she 
was  sitting,  on  the  bare  earth,  with  her  hands  clasped  be- 
fore her  knees.  The  same  look  of  energetic  contemplation 
appeared  in  her  face  and  in  Job's,  forming  an  element  of 
likeness  between  vigorous,  sudden  age  and  resplendent 
youth.  The  object  of  his  mental  labor  was  his  secret; 
hers  had  to  do  with  his  persuadableness  and  the  best 
method  of  convincing  him.  He  was  a  formidable  mystery 
to  her,  with  his  silence  and  his  power  to  halt  and  terminate. 

After  a  time  the  feeling  that  she  was  looked  at  caused 
her  to  raise  her  eyes,  which  had  been  fixed  on  the  ground, 
and  she  saw  him  watching  her.  She  rejoiced,  hoping  that 
he  would  speak  a  word,  and  keeping  her  eyes  fixed  upon 
his  with  an  eliciting  look.  The  word  came: 

"Poor  girl!" 

In  her  eagerness  to  have  him  speak  she  said  nothing, 
lest  she  should  stop  him. 

"From  your  own  troubles  you  came  into  ours.  So  much 
trouble  is  hard  on  a  young  woman.  And  when  you  were 
told  that  you  had  done  harm  here,  you  undertook  to  make 
it  right.  You  are  a  good  girl!" 

It  was  her  unhoped-for  chance.  Even  addressing  him 
without  prefix  in  order  not  to  interrupt  his  mood,  she  said, 
"May  I  do  what  I  can  to  make  it  right?" 

She  was  his  protegee;  he  regarded  her  leniently.  "You 

180 


UNDER    THE    APPLE-TREE 

must  not  think  of  that  as  a  promise.  It  was  said  in  haste, 
and  you  cannot  perform  it.  Put  it  out  of  your  mind;  or, 
if  you  are  conscientious  about  it,  I  release  you  herewith." 

"I  do  not  want  to  be  released.  Let  me  try  to  make  the 
Thai  a  flourishing  place  once  more.  Will  you  let  me  ?" 
she  asked,  rather  like  a  suggestion  to  his  mind  than  a  re- 
quest. 

"You  could  do  nothing." 

"The  damage  is  not  beyond  repair." 

"You  think  that  it  is  a  great  thing  if  life  remains.  You 
look  at  it  from  near  the  beginning,  I  from  near  the  end." 

She  could  not  answer  this,  but  she  did  not  cease  looking 
at  him  with  more  insistent  trust  than  ever. 

"You  are  sensible  and  grateful;  I  am  inclined  to  speak 
to  you.  I  suppose  you  wonder  why  I  do  not  attend  to  my 
own  property.  I  shall  tell  you.  As  a  woman  your  duty  is 
to  think  as  your  father  or  as  your  husband  thinks,  and  you 
attain  by  them  to  right  opinions.  Then  your  father  and 
your  husband  must  be  wonderfully  careful  to  be  right  in 
their  opinions,  because  you  are  following  them:  this  is  their 
duty.  You  see  that.  I  have  a  wife  and  children,  two 
younger  brothers,  tenants  and  emulators,  who  depended 
on  me.  All  went  well;  my  way  was  the  right  way.  Now — 
no  more."  He  paused,  contemplating  the  break  in  that 
old  habit  of  success.  "Consequently,  it  is  necessary  for 
me  to  readjust  myself.  I  am  wrong,  and  do  not  know 
where  I  am  wrong.  If  I  am  an  impious  man,  then  nothing 
in  the  world  is  of  importance  to  me  until  I  correct  myself. 
If  there  is  pleasure  for  the  One  above  in  destroying  what 
we  put  our  short  lives  into  building  up,  then  there  is  no 
sense  in  preparing  Him  the  materials  for  another  joke.  I 
intend  to  understand  this;  and  until  I  know  what  action  is 

181 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

reasonable,  I  will  not  proceed;  and  my  son  Jonathan,  for 
whose  course  I  am  responsible,  shall  not  proceed  either." 

The  demand  for  rationality  exhilarated  her.  Unable  to 
respond  adequately,  she  allowed  her  countenance  and  her 
silence  to  reply;  then  she  again  broached  what  was  her 
present  duty,  as  the  search  for  rectitude  was  his. 

"I  will  not  disturb  you,  and  I  will  not  hurt  anything. 
I  have  thought  of  ways.  Let  me  try  what  I  can  do  here  in 
the  Thai." 

"You  cannot  hurt  anything.  There  are  not  many  more 
ways  in  which  I  can  be  hurt." 

"Ah,  give  me  your  permission!  Think  of  me.  It  has 
been  said  that  I  brought  all  this  about!" 

Job  gave  her  a  quick,  understanding  look.  "You  are  a 
good  girl — a  good,  proud  girl.  Try  what  you  can.  Go, 
now." 

In  a  few  minutes  he  was  absorbed  again,  and  she  with- 
drew without  haste;  but  when  she  had  reached  the  house 
she  was  very  quick,  for  there  was  another  opportunity 
which  might  be  lost.  She  quietly  sped  up-stairs.  The 
opportunity  was  not  lost.  Susanna  was  shut  in  the  room 
next  to  Jesse's,  where  she  could  be  heard  preparing  for 
the  night,  and  Jesse  was  therefore  alone.  Having  made 
sure  of  this,  she  opened  his  door  and  stole  in. 

The  blinds  had  been  rolled  to  the  top  of  the  windows, 
and  he  lay  in  a  glare  of  late,  red  sunlight.  Her  first  move- 
ment was  to  give  him  the  mercy  of  shade;  she  was,  indeed, 
afraid  to  look  at  him;  but  he  summoned  her.  Then,  as  she 
had  not  provoked  Susanna  by  coming  near  him  since  the 
day  of  the  funeral,  his  improvement  was  very  evident  to 
her.  Emaciated  as  he  was,  his  appearance  no  longer  pre- 
cluded thoughts  of  life;  it  expressed  an  eager  gripping  at 

182 


UNDER    THE    APPLE-TREE 

life,  rather;  and  he  spoke  to  her,  too,  differently  enough 
from  his  usual  fluency,  but  not  as  if  it  were  impossible  for 
him  to  speak. 

"Do  not  shut  out  the  sun.  Come  here.  Why  have  you 
not  been  here  before  ?" 

"Were  you  able  to  have  me  ?" 

"No  one  comes  except,  once  in  two  or  three  days,  Jona- 
than for  a  minute.  Mother  tells  me  nothing;  will  not  talk 
herself,  and  shuts  me  up.  Why  is  she  so  tongue-tied  ? 
And  why  do  I  hear  no  sounds  of  work  ?" 

"Probably  she  thought  that  you  were  not  well  enough 
to  talk.  You  hear  no  sounds  of  work,  because  nothing 
has  been  begun  yet.  Your  father  has  not  decided  on  his 
plans." 

"That  is  strange.  However,  father  gives  the  law  here. 
Now  tell  me  about  Antony.  You  may  as  well  tell  me. 
Where  I  have  been,  since  that  morning  in  the  wheat-field, 
they  know  things." 

"Nobody  can  tell  the  full  history  of  that  night.  I  have 
heard  no  one  speak  of  seeing  Antony  between  his  appear- 
ance in  this  room  and  the  time  when  your  father  found 
him." 

"Did  you  not  see  him?" 

"From  this  room  I  went  straight  to  mine,  and  stayed 
there." 

As  he  arranged  this  in  his  mind,  she  observed  that  he 
had  less  the  look  of  physical  ill  than  of  one  bereaved. 

"Antony  intended  to  go  West,"  he  resumed.  "I  was  to 
follow  him.  When  I  can  leave  this  bed,  I  will  go  West." 
He  said  it  as  if  he  were  glad  to  announce  it,  as  a  first  step. 

"You  will  leave  us  all  ?" 

"I  will  go  West.     He  wanted  you." 
13  183 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

Her  glance  in  reply  was  non-declarative. 

"Yes."  The  pauses  and  strength-economizing  brevity 
did  not  agree  with  the  intense  animation  of  his  eyes.  "He 
did;  and  you  would  not.  You  did  not  want  Antony  when 
he  wanted  you!  Lord!  I  wonder  what  you  do  want!" 

"That  is  what  I  came  to  tell  you." 

Both  listened;  and  on  hearing  in  the  next  room  reassur- 
ing, unhastened  sounds,  they  returned  to  each  other.  "Will 
you  tell  me  how  to  run  your  mill  ?" 

"Why?"  he  demanded,  in  amazement;  and  when  in  the 
fewest  and  least  perturbing  words  she  had  told  him  what 
she  thought  he  might  safely  know,  he  said,  "How  on  earth 
did  you  induce  father  to  allow  you  ?" 

"Will  you  help  me?" 

"In  every  way  I  can.  Oh,  here  I  must  lie!  Why  do 
you  undertake  all  this  ?" 

"It  has  been  shown  to  me  that  I  have  made  mischief  in 
the  Thai." 

"You  have,"  he  answered,  exhibiting  pleasure  in  the 
veracity  of  the  statement.  "It  is  wonderful  what  you  are 
responsible  for.  I  suppose  you  are  no  witch;  you  are  not 
what  one  looks  for  in  a  witch;  but — the  fire  took  place  on 
a  moonlight  night.  Did  you  stand  out  in  the  grain-fields 
and  call  down  flame  upon  them  out  of  the  cold  moon  ? 
And  as  for  Antony —  Witch!  Witch!" 

His  voice  wore  out;  with  difficulty  he  raised  his  hand 
high  enough  to  bury  the  forefinger  in  the  hair  on  her 
forehead. 

She  paid  no  attention  to  this,  suddenly  forgetting  her- 
self as  she  looked  at  the  non-combatant  who  had  gone 
under. 

"Dear  Jesse!"  she  said.     "You  will  live  ?" 

184 


UNDER    THE    APPLE-TREE 

"I  have  been  requested  to  do  so.  Besides,  I  want  to  see 
how  you  will  make  out.  I  told  you  I  would  go  West.  In 
the  Thai  it  has  always  been  unfashionable  to  take  life 
easily;  and  now  you  are  getting  into  action,  too,  and  there 
will  be  less  room  than  ever."  He  smiled  at  her  out  of  his 
sunshine. 


XIII 

PAYMENT  BEGINS 

ON  the  next  afternoon  there  arrived  a  lad  riding  a  lean, 
bare-backed  horse,  with  a  bag  of  corn  and  oats  to  be 
ground  immediately.  He  had  not  yet  passed  a  night  any- 
where except  on  a  mountain-farm  seven  miles  from  the 
Thai,  so  a  visit  to  the  mill  was  a  social  event  for  him;  there 
he  met  strangers  and  gathered  news,  and  all  the  family  at 
home  listened  until  he  had  told  it,  and  he  was  of  more  im- 
portance than  at  any  other  time.  As  he  took  his  departure 
he  was  pleased,  because  this  was  the  most  interesting  trip 
that  he  had  ever  made,  and  sorry  that  the  family  would  al- 
most certainly  not  believe  what  he  had  to  tell. 

To  Bertha,  who  watched  his  unimposing  retreat  along 
the  road,  he  appeared  effulgent,  for  he  was  her  first  cus- 
tomer. Work  had  begun  in  the  Thai.  The  water  in  the 
race  had  been  impotently  shallow  since  the  day  when  Jesse 
was  carried  home,  but  the  gauge  now  registered  a  working 
depth,  and  there  was  a  powerful  flow  in  and  out  of  the 
arches  in  the  thick  stone  mill  walls;  the  rope-and-chain 
tackle  for  hoisting  grain-bags  was  still  in  the  position  in 
which  it  had  just  been  used;  and  the  drift  of  the  air  carried 
through  the  large  open  doorway  a  thin  cloud  of  fresh 
flour.  The  building  was  full  of  noises:  corn  rattled  in- 
cessantly from  a  wooden  trough  into  a  wooden  hopper;  the 

1 86 


PAYMENT    BEGINS 

grindstones  kept  up  a  steady,  whirring  roar;  the  wheel 
splashed  below.  Bertha  had  been  discovering  the  mill's 
diversities  of  character.  On  the  first  floor,  where  the 
troughs  and  hoppers  were,  it  was  businesslike;  the  old 
grindstones  leaning  against  the  wall  had  been  worn  out  by 
business;  but  the  wooden  pillars,  hewn  from  logs  with  a 
broad- axe  and  used  in  a  much  older  mill,  connected  it 
with  the  past.  Even  on  a  hot  July  afternoon  the  small 
mill-room  did  not  entirely  lose  the  social  air  imparted  by 
many  gatherings  of  Jesse's  friends  on  winter  evenings, 
during  which  the  stove  was  red-hot  and  pipes  were  smoked 
and  the  talk  was  parti-colored.  The  ground  floor  was  so 
nearly  dark  that  it  would  have  been  possible  inadvertently 
to  walk  into  the  deadly  looking  race,  in  which  the  old 
wooden  wheel  went  round  and  round.  This  place  struck 
Bertha's  imagination :  she  fancied  how  it  would  look  after 
many  years,  when  the  walls  were  falling  and  the  still  wheel 
and  stagnant  race  were  ghostly  on  moonlight  nights,  and 
she  herself  was  dead.  Among  the  sounds  of  life-sustaining 
industry,  and  with  the  smell  of  the  freshly  ground  corn 
growing  stronger,  the  idea  was  no  more  than  a  pleasant 
contrast. 

She  stood  studying  the  apparatus,  accompanying  her 
slow  glance  with  a  resume  of  the  workings  of  each  part; 
their  dependence  upon  her  was  a  sign  of  her  progress  be- 
yond her  position  of  yesterday.  The  afternoon  light  among 
the  brown  pillars  displayed  her  well:  her  lips  looked  rosier 
for  it;  her  compactly  arranged  hair  brighter;  in  her  deter- 
mined concentration  she  was  rather  statuelike.  So  she 
was  standing,  not  having  been  able  to  hear  his  approach, 
when  Jonathan  saw  her  through  the  doorway.  His  mind 
was  intent,  but  at  the  sight  of  her  his  heart  leaped  of  itself. 

187 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

"Bertha!"  he  exclaimed,  as  her  presence  furnished  an 
incredible  answer  to  the  question  he  was  about  to  put.  "I 
was  astonished  to  see  the  water  running  from  the  creek 
into  the  race,  and  to  hear  the  mill  in  operation.  Who  has 
taken  charge  of  it  ?" 

«  T    )> 

"Please  tell  me  who  is  here?"  He  required  by  a  look 
a  serious  answer. 

"No  one  but  ourselves.  You  seem  to  have  been  work- 
ing hard,  and  it  was  not  in  the  Thai.  Where  have  you 
been  all  day  ?" 

In  spite  of  his  eagerness  to  be  doing  the  questioning,  he 
gave  her  the  conversational  right  of  way.  "I  must  have 
work,  so  I  have  hired  myself  out  to  help  harvest  other 
people's  oats  and  buckwheat.  I  got  my  first  job  last 
night,  and  went  to  it  this  morning." 

"Perhaps  I  could  give  you  work  if  you  applied  to  me." 
This  was  the  first  time  in  weeks  that  she  had  laughed; 
and  after  it  she  said,  with  a  very  placating  manner:    "It 
will  be  so  bad  for  the  business  if  the  mill  remains  closed. 
Last  evening  I  sent  a  message  to  the  man  who  would  not 
take  the  place,  and  curiosity  brought  him,  as  I  counted  on 
it  to  do;  and  he  has  shown  me  how  to  manage  everything. 
Since  he  went  away  I  have  dealt  with  one  customer,  so  you 
see  that  it  is  not  impossible;  and  I  am  going  to  be  the  miller." 
"You  could  not  handle  the  sacks — " 
"I  shall  take  them  slowly,  and  I  am  no  weakling." 
"The  gearing  and  the  wheel  must  be  looked  after.     I 
don't  know  how,  but  my  brother  was    always  busy  with 
them." 

"The  miller  offered  to  come  for  that  purpose  as  often 
as  it  is  necessary." 

1 88 


PAYMENT    BEGINS 

"What  do  you  think  my  father  will  say?" 

"I  have  his  permission." 

"His  permission  to  run  the  mill?" 

"To  do  anything  I  can  to  restore  the  Thai.  My  idea 
is—" 

"Please  don't  go  on.  Do  you  imagine  that  I  would 
allow  you  to  do  anything  of  that  sort  ?" 

"Your  father  allows  me." 

"My  father  insults  me;  that  permission  should  have 
been  mine.  But  the  important  thing  is  to  get  you  away  as 
quickly  as  possible  from  this  idea."  He  spoke  as  if  it  were 
a  physical  degradation. 

"I  don't  see  why  you  could  not  let  me — if  you  were  the 
one  to  let  me." 

"If  you  don't  see  it  is  because  you  won't.  Could  I  sit  by 
in  idleness  while  you  do  my  work — when,  if  I  had  my  way, 
you  should  not  lift  your  hand  ?  If  I  could,  it  should  never 
be  hot  or  cold  for  you.  You  certainly  know  that.  I  should 
like  to  know  how  many  men  have  said  the  same  to  you." 

This  first  statement  of  love  by  him  was  made  and  met 
savagely.  "You  overcome  me.  Feelings  so  flattering  ex- 
pressed with  such  tenderness — how  can  I  reply  to  them  ?" 

During  the  next  minute  they  encountered  each  other 
through  their  eyes  in  a  new  character;  then  he  said,  with 
a  manner  as  if  he  were  steering:  "Bertha,  I  deserve  that, 
and  I  know  very  well  that,  as  you  have  gone  about  the 
house  in  your  quiet  way,  you  have  been  despising  me.  Now 
I  want  you  to  listen." 

She  did  not  stop  him,  and  ceased  to  look  at  him. 

"I  saw  you  for  the  first  time  when  I  was  undecided 
whether  to  comply  with  my  father's  wishes  and  remain 
away  from  home,  or  with  my  own,  and  come  back  here  to 

189 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

live;  and  the  sight  of  you  decided  me.  There  has  not  been 
a  day  since  that  I  have  not  thought  of  you;  but  I  had 
nothing  to  offer  you,  and  that  kept  me  from  laying  claim, 
even  that  morning  in  the  wheat  -  field.  Now,  although  I 
am  worse  off  than  ever,  I  must  have  it  clear  between 
us." 

She  awaited  the  question. 

"I  want  you  so  much  that  I  am  not  ashamed  to  offer 
myself  to  you.  Will  you  accept  me  ?" 

Although  he  thought  that  he  recognized  in  her  face 
triumph  and  modest  joy  and  regret  successively,  they  were 
so  suppressed  and  so  fugitive  that  he  could  be  sure  of  none 
of  them;  and  her  powerful  silence  deepened  the  impression 
first  made  upon  him  when  they  walked  together  on  the 
April  afternoon,  that  she  would  act  in  accordance  with 
immaterial  standards  of  her  own,  of  which  he  could  foretell 
nothing. 

"Bertha,"  he  recalled  her,  making  an  endearment  of 
the  name. 

She  said,  "No,  I  cannot  do  that,"  and  added  no  thanks. 

"Bertha,  I  need  you." 

"How  could  you  possibly  need  me?" 

He  did  not  notice  that  her  tone  exalted  him.  "How  could 
I  need  you  ?"  he  repeated,  and  said  no  more  for  a  while, 
only  looked  at  her.  "Can't  you?"  he  said,  with  diffi- 
culty. 

At  that  she  lifted  her  hand  in  a  self-protective  gesture 
to  brush  the  quiver  from  her  lips.  "I  cannot." 

"Don't  you  care  at  all  for  me  ?" 

"I  care  to  do  what  I  have  undertaken  to  do." 

He  waited,  with  the  hope  that  she  would  say  something 
on  which  he  could  base  a  plea. 

190 


PAYMENT    BEGINS 

"I  want  you  to  understand  me,"  she  did  say,  "and  I 
want  you  to  help  me.  You  heard  what  I  promised  your 
mother,  and  it  is  time  for  me  to  begin  to  do  what  I  prom- 
ised. I  intend  to  run  the  mill,  grinding  on  certain  days. 
We  must  engage  a  contractor  to  rebuild  the  barn,  and  men 
to  do  the  harvesting,  and  the  harvesters  and  masons  must 
be  fed.  I  shall  cook  for  them,  and  keep  the  house  going. 
The  restocking,  however,  is  beyond  me.  I  ask  you  to  under- 
take that,  and  the  fence-making.  Will  you  ?" 

"You  take  everything  into  your  own  hands,"  said  he, 
quietly. 

"Once  I  was  afraid  to  take  something  into  my  own 
hands,  and  I  have  been  sorry  ever  since,  for  harm  came 
of  it.  It  happened  here." 

"What  harm?" 

"I  helped  your  sister  Esther  to  leave  home."  She  sup- 
plied the  details  when  he  questioned  her. 

Without  comment  on  the  information,  he  said,  still 
quietly:  "Don't  you  think  it  a  good  deal  to  assume — the 
responsibility  for  all  these  calamities  among  people  strange 
to  you?  And  there  are  a  number  of  ways  to  look  at  it: 
for  instance,  it  is  mere  chance  that  Jesse  was  struck  by 
Antony,  and  not  by  me.  I  have  no  doubt  that  I  could 
trace  the  whole  succession  to  my  wanting  you  if  I  were 
inclined  to  do  so." 

"I  never  thought  of  other  ways  to  look  at  it,"  she  said, 
meekly.  "I  don't  believe  that  I  should  have  considered 
myself  the  cause  of  the  trouble  if  your  mother  had  not 
done  so;  but  she  did.  So,  you  see,  I  must  pay  for  it.  I 
dare  not  think  of  what  you  say." 

He  thought  that  she  was  yielding  to  argument,  and  pro- 
ceeded: "This  idea  of  payment — explain  it  to  me." 

191 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

"I  owe  for  you  and  Antony  and  Esther  and  Jesse.  I 
owe  your  mother." 

In  the  short  silence  her  face  grew  radiant  under  his  eyes 
from  the  vision  which  followed  her  own  words,  of  frustrat- 
ing the  destruction  in  the  Thai,  and  compensating  the  elder- 
ly mother;  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  her  spirit  would  go  on  to 
pay  if  her  body  died  before  it  was  done.  "How  could  I 
think  of  anything  but  that  ?"  she  exclaimed. 

"All  my  happiness  is  in  you,  Bertha." 

"I  want  to  think  of  nothing  but  what  I  have  set  myself 
to  do.  I  want  to  pay  my  debt  and  wash  my  hands  and  go. 
Do  you  think  that  I  would  settle  down  here  where  I  should 
be  unwelcome — detested  ?" 

"I  must  call  your  attention  to  one  fact,"  said  he,  fiercely: 
"you  and  I  cannot  be  here  together.  It  is  too  much  for 
flesh  and  blood." 

It  brought  her  up  short  for  a  minute;  but  the  eager, 
glowing  sweetness  of  her  eyes  melted  that  mood  of  his  as 
winter  obstacles  melt  in  a  flood  of  warm,  sunny  air.  He 
did  not  know  whether  he  was  with  her  or  against  her. 

"Jonathan!"  She  had  never  called  him  this  before. 
"My  heart  is  set  on  this  reparation.  Perhaps  I  am  in  the 
wrong,  and  presumptuous,  as  you  say;  but  I  can  do  noth- 
ing else.  I  am  clamped  down  to  it.  I  cannot  accomplish 
it  without  you.  Now,  will  you  help  me  ?" 

"My  God!     What  will  square  it  for  you  ?" 

"I  don't  yet  know  all  of  it,  but  on  the  day  when  the 
account  is  squared  I  will  go,  and  I  know  it  will  be  soon; 
luck  will  be  with  me.  Then  you  will  be  rid  of  me.  Can 
I  count  on  you  ?" 

He  nodded,  staring  at  her.  "You  imagine  that  your 
going  is  what  I  want!" 

192 


PAYMENT    BEGINS 

She  walked  away  a  few  steps,  stopped,  and  walked  com- 
posedly back.  "I  have  another  thing  to  ask — an  important 
thing.  As  soon  as  I  have  gone,  tell  your  mother  how  I 
answered  you  to-day.  I  owe  her  no  more  on  your  account. 
My  answer  pays  that." 


XIV 

THE    SECOND    INSTALMENT 

SUSANNA  had  fallen  asleep  in  a  chair  by  her  bedroom 
window.  There  was  nothing  to  disturb  her  :  quiet 
inside,  and  outside  the  peaceful,  after-sunset  sounds  of  hens 
clucking  and  birds  chirping  while  they  settled  for  the  night, 
and  distant  voices  from  the  creek,  of  men  bathing;  so  she 
slept  soundly,  with  her  head  against  the  window-frame. 
Her  hair  was  now  gray,  and  tendons  showed  in  her  neck 
behind  her  large  gold  ear-hoops.  Although  she  was  asleep, 
she  looked  as  if  she  were  making  a  great  effort,  for  she  was 
dreaming  an  exhausting  dream.  In  the  dream  everything 
in  the  Thai  was  as  it  had  been,  and  Antony  himself  was  in 
his  room;  at  the  same  time  she  knew  that  she  was  dreaming, 
and  that  she  must  get  to  him  before  she  awoke;  and  she 
was  trying  to  hurry. 

She  was  not  able  to  keep  herself  from  waking  before  she 
saw  him,  and  with  a  sensation  like  that  imputed  to  a  child 
when  it  is  born  she  found  herself  again  in  her  damaged  world. 
Without  changing  her  position  or  raising  her  head,  she 
sat  thinking  and  collecting  her  realizations,  while  the 
placidity  won  in  sleep  relapsed  into  undemonstrative  bitter- 
ness made  more  bitter  by  the  desire  that  time  should  turn 
back.  It  would  have  been  easier  to  keep  on  living,  it 
seemed  to  her  half  awake,  if  she  could  have  gotten  to  see 

194 


THE    SECOND    INSTALMENT 

Antony;  and  the  happiness  of  seeing  him  in  a  dream  might 
have  been  allowed  her  if  Providence  were  not  wanton. 

It  was  some  time  before  she  noticed  that  she  had  been 
aroused  by  the  voices  of  her  sons,  who  were  talking  in 
Jesse's  room  with  the  door  ajar.  Her  attention  was  at- 
tracted by  a  question  from  Jesse:  "Where  does  she  get  the 
necessary  money  ?" 

"That  is  another  good  thing.  Father  lets  her  come  to 
him  for  it;  and  he  has  made  no  objection  to  anything  that 
has  been  done,  not  even  when  he  saw  me  working.  He 
seems  satisfied  to  let  her  manage  while  he  sits  and  thinks 
over  whatever  it  is  that  occupies  him.  What  can  you  tell 
me  about  mother  ?"  said  Jonathan. 

Evidently  they  had  known  her  to  be  asleep,  and  spoke  so 
low  in  order  not  to  awake  her;  but  she  heard  every  word. 

"No  improvement,"  Jesse  answered.  "Mother  leaves 
these  two  rooms  only  when  it  is  absolutely  necessary;  she 
never  talks  to  me  about  what  has  happened;  and  you  see 
how  she  looks.  Does  she  notice  father?" 

"No.  I  hoped  that  she  would  begin  to  be  a  little  more 
like  herself  with  you.  In  my  opinion  she  is  the  danger- 
point  now.  It  is  all  harder  on  her  than  on  any  one  else. 
Poor  mother!" 

"How  are  you  getting  along  ?"  Jesse  asked,  in  a  friendly 
way. 

"Under  her  direction:  each  morning  she  tells  me  what 
she  wants  done,  and  at  the  end  of  the  week  she  pays  me. 
She  is  a  wonder.  At  least  once  a  day  she  goes  to  the  barn 
and  to  the  fields,  and  walks  about  among  the  men  and  talks 
to  them,  and  they  wear  themselves  out  to  please  her.  Your 
mill  is  in  good  shape;  and  while  the  house  does  not  look 
quite  as  usual,  it  does  very  well,  and  the  men  are  well  fed. 

195 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

Our  old  cook-stove  never  found  itself  going  at  such  strange 
hours  as  now;  last  night  it  was  midnight  when  she  stopped 
baking." 

Susanna  noted  that  in  the  Thai  she  no  longer  meant  the 
wife  and  mother. 

Jesse  was  saying:  "I  should  think  that  you  were  super- 
fluous, and  I  too;  she  makes  us  look  like  poor  souls.  How 
do  you  like  taking  orders  from  her?" 

The  listener  desired  to  hear  her  son  express  detestation, 
but  nothing  stronger  came  than,  "I  am  wonderfully  glad  to 
see  the  Thai  coming  back  to  life,  but  I  can  scarcely  stand 
not  being  the  one  to  bring  it  about." 

"You  did  the  best  you  could,  considering  father.  Won't 
you  keep  on  under  her  ?" 

"I  certainly  will." 

"I  am  glad  of  it.  For  my  part,  when  I  get  up  she  may 
give  me  orders  from  morning  until  night.  I  never  heard 
of  such  a  woman." 

During  a  pause,  recuperative  for  Jesse,  Susanna  under- 
stood what  had  not  been  so  plain  before:  that  she  alone 
composed  one  of  two  factions  in  the  house.  Of  all  her  men 
not  one  was  left  to  her  except  the  memory  of  Antony. 

"It  has  been  a  strange  business  altogether.  Look  at 
what  we  were  six  months  ago,  and  how  it  is  now:  the 
changes  are  greater  than  should  have  taken  place  in  thirty 
years.  There  seems  to  be  no  sense  in  it,"  said  Jonathan. 

"You  are  right.  Death  and  damage,  and  father  and 
mother  as  they  are.  It  is  like  a  crazy  dream." 

"Jesse,  I  have  done  a  deal  of  thinking  about  this.  Do 
you  bear  a  grudge  against  me  for  what  happened  to  you 
in  the  wheat-field  ?" 

"Surely  not.  Grudges  are  too  heavy  to  carry  about," 

196 


THE    SECOND    INSTALMENT 

answered  Jesse,  soberly.  "Anyhow,  you  did  not  touch 
me." 

"You  don't  blame  her?" 

"She  was  blameless;  as  blameless  as  Antony,  who  hit 
me  through  pure  bad  luck.  None  of  you  could  have  acted 
differently  from  the  way  you  did.  When  one  knows  that, 
one  has  easy  going  through  the  world;  besides,  this  gives  us 
a  good  chance  to  show  what  we  are." 

Nothing  followed;  apparently  Jesse  had  exhausted  him- 
self. But  Susanna  did  not  need  more,  since  she  had  heard 
the  blame  of  his  injury  taken  from  Antony.  After  moving 
her  chair  as  if  she  were  just  waking,  she  went  into  the  other 
room,  taking  pains  to  reassure  them  by  yawning  and  a 
sleepy  countenance  when  she  saw  that  they  were  in  con- 
sternation lest  she  should  have  heard.  As  she  did  so  she 
suggested  a  classic  statue,  open-mouthed,  representing  loud 
mourning.  She  made  some  additions  to  Jesse's  comfort 
and  questioned  Jonathan  about  his  day,  with  the  shielding, 
maternal  manner  which  they  had  long  missed.  She  bade 
Jonathan  stay  there  until  her  return,  and  even  smiled  good- 
bye to  them  from  the  door,  at  which  they  looked  at  each 
other  hopefully;  but  she  felt  far  away  from  them.  Antony, 
freed  from  blame  for  Jesse,  was  much  nearer.  It  seemed 
that  she  might  find  him  in  his  old  room,  as  she  had  dreamed; 
or,  perhaps,  he  would  come  with  no  tread  to  meet  her  in 
the  twilight;  though,  she  thought,  he  would  come  better 
in  the  heat  and  light  of  August  noon — no  sunshine  would 
be  too  strong  for  that  strong  ghost. 

She  was  about  to  take  her  daily  walk  through  the  house, 
and  she  meant  to  end  it  with  his  room.  This  evening  she 
recollected  even  more  clearly  than  usual  how  everything 
had  looked  before  the  Heilig  luck  was  broken,  especially 

197 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  when  the  strange  woman  first 
became  important  to  them;  then  the  twilight  had  been  as 
quiet  as  it  was  now,  but  the  absent  ones  were  coming  back. 
There  was  only  one  place  where  what  she  remembered 
harmonized  with  what  she  saw:  that  was  the  garret,  where 
there  was  no  more  than  the  regular  change  between  winter 
and  summer  storing;  but  when  from  a  window  she  saw 
the  transformation  in  the  landscape,  she  felt  as  if  she  were 
being  shouldered  out  of  her  home.  The  Thai  had  been  the 
result  of  years  of  consultation,  work,  and  love,  and  she  and 
Job  had  made  it  together  for  their  children;  now  she  looked 
at  the  fields,  harvested  under  a  stranger's  direction;  the  mill, 
where  she  presided;  and  the  barn,  beginning  to  rise  to  do 
her  credit;  and  as  she  looked  Bertha's  builders  came  gayly 
up  from  the  creek  and  went  into  the  shedding  where  they 
slept  on  straw;  and  when  she  could  no  longer  see  them, 
she  heard  them  singing.  Her  steps  regular,  her  thoughts 
arid,  she  walked  through  all  the  unused  bedrooms  except 
one,  and  through  the  first-floor  rooms.  She  observed,  in 
the  kitchen,  rearrangements  to  suit  the  stranger's  con- 
venience and  signs  of  hasty  housekeeping;  but  she  touched 
nothing,  and  did  not  wipe  the  dust  from  her  clock,  although 
the  clock  in  her  memory  was  like  luminous  satin  when  the 
sun  was  on  it.  In  the  bedroom  of  the  master  and  mis- 
tress, where  she  had  not  lain  since  the  night  of  the  fire, 
she  felt  the  peculiar  grief  of  exile  imposed  by  the  ex- 
ile's nature  alone.  From  there  she  went  to  Antony's 
room. 

When  the  door  opened  with  a  lonely  sound,  she  thought: 
If  she  should  see  him! 

The  room  smelled  musty  and  looked  forsaken,  and  she 
seated  herself  on  the  chest,  with  her  gray  face  bent  forward, 

198 


THE    SECOND    INSTALMENT 

and  recalled  her  luxurious  dream.     Now,  except  in  memory, 
Antony  was  not. 

Solitude  could  be  endured  no  longer  by  her,  and  the 
sympathy  and  partisanship  which  her  sister  would  give, 
even  before  she  explained  why  she  needed  them,  were 
the  greatest  comfort  that  she  could  get.  So  far  she  had 
foregone  that  comfort,  but  this  evening  she  did  not  care 
whether  Job  opposed  her  or  not:  she  was  ready  to  walk 
past  him  without  answering.  She  did  walk  out  of  Antony's 
room  and  out  of  the  house,  and  without  meeting  any  one 
she  took  the  road  to  the  east. 

Since  the  day  when  she  accompanied  her  son  she  had  not 
been  on  the  road,  and  it  seemed  so  strange  to  be  there  that 
she  did  not  want  to  answer  the  salutations  of  the  few  people 
who  peered  to  see  who  she  was  in  the  dusk.  The  first  sight 
of  Henrietta's  new  house,  which  was  well  advanced  in 
the  building,  made  her  feel  stranger  still  by  marking  how 
long  she  had  been  away:  the  old  house  looked  hardly 
more  than  a  toy  beside  it.  There  was  no  light  or  motion 
about  the  place,  except  a  lamp  burning  in  an  upper  room 
and  a  small  figure  skipping  on  the  grass  by  the  roadside 
all  alone.  It  was  too  dark  for  Susanna  to  see  the  skipping- 
rope. 

When  little  Susanna  recognized  her  aunt,  she  threw  her 
arms  around  her  as  high  up  as  she  could  reach,  and  she 
was  kissed  because  she  had  not  changed.  "Father  has 
gone  for  horses.  Mother  is  putting  the  others  to  bed.  I 
ran  away,"  she  recounted. 

"Will  you  tell  her  that  I  am  waiting  for  her?" 

"I  ran  away." 

"  If  you  say  that  I  am  here,  she  will  not  scold  you.     Will 
you  be  a  good  girl  and  tell  her?" 
14  199 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

The  child  hurried  with  the  talismanic  sentence,  and 
Susanna  felt  afraid,  for  Henrietta  might  disappoint  her; 
but  in  a  moment  she  was  there,  with  as  eager  an  embrace 
as  the  little  one's,  and  exclaiming:  "My  dear,  dear  sister! 
Come  in!" 

"To-night  I  can  see  no  one  but  you.     Come  with  me." 

Susanna  led  the  way  into  a  small  wood  which  was  beside 
the  road  near  the  new  house,  and  there  the  two  sat  on  a  log 
together.  Now,  after  being  sealed  up  in  herself  so  long, 
she  could  say  anything,  but  she  wanted  to  hear  first.  She 
was  told  that  Heman  had  refused  to  interfere  further  with 
Job,  and  that  Elias  was  silently  unhappy  over  the  estrange- 
ment, and  Cassandra  over  him;  and  that  Philip  thought 
that  Job  would  make  advances  if  he  were  left  to  himself 
for  a  while.  Then  Susanna  became  the  speaker.  She 
finished  by  saying: 

"It  is  worse  in  my  house  than  you  can  imagine.  Job, 
Jonathan,  and  Jesse  are  given  over  to  this  girl,  to  whom 
Job  permits  everything.  Was  I  not  the  one  to  direct  the 
reconstruction  if  he  could  not  ?  But  I  am  displaced." 

"How  can  you  have  her  in  your  sight?  I  should  put 
her  off  the  place  with  my  own  hands." 

"I  dare  not  do  that,  on  account  of  Job  and  Jesse." 

"When  we  were  girls  together  and  talked  about  being 
married,  we  never  thought  of  anything  like  this." 

"No  one  ever  thought  of  anything  like  this.  However, 
I  have  still  three  good  things  left  to  me.  I  have  you — " 

"You  will  have  me  always." 

"Now  I  am  sure  of  that — and  Jesse  is  growing  better, 
and  Antony  is  free  from  blame.  I  had  him  once,  so  I  am 
not  destitute.  He  was  all  that  I  wanted  him  to  be." 

Henrietta  had  been  holding  her  sister's  hand  and  speak- 

200 


THE    SECOND    INSTALMENT 

ing  tenderly,  all  the  animation  subdued  out  of  her;  now 
she  answered,  quickly  and  quite  loudly,  "I  know  he  was." 

There  was  a  pause,  in  which  both  women  got  ready  for 
a  new  difficulty  introduced  by  an  impulsive  tone. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Henny  ?"  asked  Susanna. 

"I  was  only  agreeing  with  you,"  her  sister  answered, 
anxiously. 

"More  than  that:  I  heard  it  in  your  voice,  which  sounded 
angry  at  a  third  party.  You  have  heard  something  against 
Antony,  and  I  want  to  know  what  it  is." 

Henny  tried  to  get  out  of  it;  but  Susanna  insisted:  "What 
is  it  ?  I  have  been  left  in  the  dark  many  times  of  late,  and 
I  intend  to  know  this.  I  shall  probably  imagine  something 
worse  than  the  truth  if  you  don't  tell  me." 

"It  is  something  which  no  sensible  person  would  believe. 
Some  say  that  Antony  started  that  fire." 

"That  Antony  started  the  fire!"  Susanna  repeated,  in  a 
wondering  voice.  "Do  they  say  that  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Why,  she  did  it!" 

"Bertha?" 

"The  one  who  has  done  us  all  the  mischief.  You  might 
know." 

Susanna  rose  to  her  feet  and  brushed  away  the  clinging 
dirt  of  the  log  from  her  dress.  "I  must  go  back  now,"  she 
said. 

Henrietta  held  her  tight.  "Do  Job  and  the  boys  know 
this  1" 

"I  suppose  any  one  would  know  it  who  was  in  the  house 
at  the  time  and  does  a  little  thinking." 

"Why  did  she  doit?" 

"Why  has  she  done  any  of  the  things  she  has  done? 

201 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

Perhaps  she  intended  that  it  should  be  blamed  on  Antony. 
And  now  she  makes  a  great  show  of  trying  to  repay  us." 

"And  she  remains  in  your  house?" 

"None  of  them  would  give  her  up,  I  tell  you.  It  is  not 
one;  it  is  all  of  them." 

Henrietta  still  held  her  sister.  Presently  she  said: 
"Listen!  This  shall  not  continue.  I  would  allow  it  for 
no  woman  whom  I  thought  well  of,  least  of  all  for  you.  I 
will  come  to-morrow  morning,  and  I  will  bring  Cassandra 
with  me,  and  we  shall  see  whether  right-thinking  women 
can  do  something  with  these  men.  Do  you  consent  to 
this  ?" 

"You  will  remember  that  they  are  both  feeble  ?" 

"Oh  yes,  I  shall  remember  that  they  are  both  feeble!" 

"Then  I  shall  welcome  you." 

Susanna  would  go  back  alone,  and  on  foot.  The  way 
seemed  short,  and  when  her  sons  saw  her  they  did  not  know 
what  to  make  of  her  abstracted,  sparkling  look,  which  was 
still  there  in  the  morning.  She  was  as  if  swept  along  by 
the  hours,  and  she  was  glad,  and  willing  to  go  wherever  her 
present  impetus  landed  her.  Much  vitality  was  used  up 
by  her  in  ardent  listening  for  the  approach  of  her  sisters. 

There  was  not  long  to  wait.  Before  the  dew  was  dry 
they  drove  up  to  the  front  door,  and  she  hurried  out  to 
welcome  them. 

Conscience-supported  energy  was  in  the  bearing  of  all 
three;  the  call  to  action  had  eliminated  the  antagonism  be- 
tween Henrietta  and  Cassandra,  and  the  former  looked 
more  than  usually  quick  of  resource,  the  latter  as  if  she 
could  make  a  few  resources  go  far.  Not  waiting  to  get  out 
of  the  carriage,  Henrietta  leaned  over  to  say: 

"Two  of  my  children  heard  me  tell  Heman's  contractor 

202 


THE    SECOND    INSTALMENT 

that — you  know  who — started  that  fire.  This  morning  it 
will  go  through  the  school,  and  at  noon  the  parents  will 
begin  to  hear  it.  It  is  suitable  that  it  should  be  spread 
from  the  school.  My  older  children  did  not  want  to  go 
there  after  the  teacher  talked  about  the  troubles  of  their 
uncle  Job,  to  illustrate  something  which  he  read  to  them  out 
of  the  Bible." 

Susanna's  eyes  glowed.  She  conducted  her  allies  into 
the  parlor,  and  asked  them  how  they  preferred  to  begin, 
ceremoniously. 

"Where  is  Jonathan?"  Henrietta  asked. 

"Gone  away  on  some  of  her  business.  You  need  not 
consider  him;  she  has  him  fast." 

"Then  we  must  try  what  plain  talk  will  do  with  the 
others,"  said  Cassandra.  "Henrietta,  you  and  Jesse  were 
always  friendly;  you  will  have  more  influence  there.  I 
shall  speak  with  Job,  over  whom  my  husband  is  getting 
old  with  worry." 

Susanna  remained  alone,  enjoying  the  comfort  of  having 
some  one  to  do  for  her,  imagining  many  ways  that  each 
interview  might  be  taking,  and  awaiting  their  return  with 
calmness.  They  came  together;  and  as  neither  spoke,  she 
said: 

"Does  Jesse  consent  to  turn  her  out?" 

"No." 

"Does  Job?" 

"No." 

There  was  a  pause,  brief,  but  in  it  a  first  defeat  was  ac- 
cepted and  put  behind  them.  The  others  awaited  her  ac- 
count from  Henrietta,  who  looked  baffled. 

"I  was  so  glad  to  see  Jesse,"  she  said,  "and  he  seemed 
to  be  glad;  he  and  I  were  always  friends.  His  appearance 

203 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

shocked  me;  and  that  he  is  on  the  road  to  recovery  proves 
to  me  that  nothing  is  hopeless.  He  wanted  to  hear  all  that 
has  been  going  on,  and  I  told  him  the  news  of  the  neigh- 
bors; and  he  said  that  he  had  never  known  until  now  how 
pleasant  it  is  to  be  a  miller,  seeing  strangers  from  all  quar- 
ters and  hearing  everything;  and  he  asked  me  to  tell  him 
more.  I  said  I  had  a  good  deal  more  to  tell  him.  I  gave 
him  the  whole  story  of  what  has  happened  here,  and  showed 
him  what  this  girl  has  done;  and  his  only  remark  was:  'So 
Bertha  burned  the  barn  ?  What  fool  started  that  notion  ?' 
"Jesse,'  I  said,  'if  you  insist  that  she  must  go,  she  will 
go.'  And  just  then  he  shut  his  eyes  and  began  to  gasp.  I 
wanted  to  bring  him  water  or  whiskey,  or  do  anything  I 
could  for  him,  but  he  would  not  have  it;  he  told  me  that 
he  needed  rest  only,  and  he  asked  me  to  leave  him." 

Susanna  hurried  out  of  the  room,  and  Cassandra  said  to 
Henrietta,  in  a  low  voice: 

"Did  you  believe  in  that?" 

"I  can't  think  that  Jesse  was  playing  a  trick." 

"He  only  wanted  to  get  rid  of  you." 

He  was  sleeping,  Susanna  reported  when  she  came  back; 
and  Cassandra's  account  was  asked. 

She  said:  "I  found  Job  sitting  under  a  tree,  doing  noth- 
ing. He  did  not  want  to  listen  to  me,  and  I  began  by 
telling  him  how  his  brother  takes  this  to  heart,  and  that  we 
all  want  so  much  to  see  him  prospering  again,  and  that  we 
miss  him.  That  did  no  good.  Then  I  told  him  what  is 
being  said  against  Antony,  and  I  begged  him,  for  your 
sake,  Susanna,  and  for  the  credit  of  the  family,  and  in 
justice  to  his  dead  son,  to  send  away  this  mischief-making 
girl.  Nothing  seemed  to  strike  him  until  I  spoke  of  her 
starting  the  fire,  and  then  I  thought  he  would  act  imme- 

204 


THE    SECOND    INSTALMENT 

diately,  for  he  got  up,  and  said :  'Cassandra,  you  go.  This 
is  no  business  for  women.  Women  have  had  too  much  to 
do  in  it  already.' 

"Whatever  he  intended,  he  postponed  it,  and  sat  down 
again;  but  he  would  hear  nothing  more.  Now  I  want  to 
know,  are  all  these  men  bewitched  ?" 

"Men  need  no  more  bewitching  than  such  a  face  can 
do,"  Henrietta  said,  bitterly.  "Now  what,  Susanna  ?" 

"What  would  you  do?" 

"Leave  him.  Come  to  me.  You  have  a  home  with 
me." 

"Would  you  leave  Jesse  as  he  is  now,  if  you  were  his 
mother  f " 

"I  would  take  him  with  me;  and  I  would  walk  out  of 
this  cursed  house,  and  I  would  never  come  back." 

"What  do  you  advise,  Cassandra  f"  Susanna  proceeded. 

"The  same.  Such  insults  as  are  put  upon  you  no  woman 
should  endure." 

"It  surprises  me  that  you  have  stood  it  as  long  as  this," 
said  Henrietta,  "though  I  can  see  that  you  would  put  up 
with  much,  being  so  sorrowful  and  so  alone;  but  if  you 
continue,  I  shall  think  that  you  do  not  know  when  you 
are  insulted." 

"Do  I  not?"  Susanna  answered.  "Do  you  think  it 
does  not  burn  me  ?" 

"I  should  rather  see  Elias  dead  than  have  him  treat  me 
as  Job  treats  you,"  said  Cassandra.  "With  my  husband 
I  must  be  first;  but  all  women  are  not  alike." 

"If  you  submit  longer,  our  mother  would  have  been 
ashamed  of  you,"  Henrietta  added. 

"There  is,  however,  one  thing  left  to  try,"  Cassandra 
said,  presently,  in  a  more  ordinary  manner:  "Job  is  the 

205 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

one  to  blame  throughout;  and  it  is  possible  that  this  girl, 
who  is  young  enough  to  be  the  daughter  of  any  one  of  us, 
would  go  of  herself  if  we  put  the  case  to  her.  Then  in  time, 
while  it  would  never  be  as  it  was,  it  would  still  be  better 
than  if  you  leave,  Susanna.  Let  us  try  the  girl." 

After  some  looking  into  each  other's  faces,  Henrietta  said 
to  her  sister: 

"No,  let  me  call  her.  She  is  the  one  to  blame,  in  my 
opinion,  and  not  Job;  but  we  can  try  her." 

It  was  necessary  to  hunt  for  Bertha,  who  was  picking 
beans  in  the  blazing  sun;  and  the  summons  was  delivered 
in  a  manner  which  caused  her  to  follow  immediately,  ex- 
pecting something  hostile.  Her  movements  were  jerky 
from  overstrained  nerves,  for  she  had  been  working  since 
dawn  as  fast  as  it  was  possible  for  her  to  work,  and  at 
tasks  exhaustingly  miscellaneous.  When  the  three  women 
had  her  before  them,  they  looked  at  her  for  an  appreciable 
time,  during  which  their  expressions  did  not  change  and 
hers  reached  a  climax.  The  lead  was  taken  by  Cassandra : 

"Bertha,  we  remember  from  our  own  youth  that  a  young 
woman  often  does  wrong  through  inexperience,  when,  if 
those  who  are  older  would  explain  to  her  in  the  way  of 
kindness,  she  would  be  glad  to  do  differently.  We  think 
that  it  is  fair  to  you  to  have  a  talk  with  you,  since  your 
mother  is  not  here;  and  I  believe  that  you  will  take  the 
course  which  your  parents,  who  were  good  people,  would 
have  wanted  you  to  take." 

After  a  glance  at  the  other  two  for  enlightenment,  Bertha 
said  to  Cassandra: 

"Whatever  you  have  to  say  to  me,  Mrs.  Heilig,  so  much 
is  fairly  said.  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  what  I  can  to  please 
you." 

206 


THE    SECOND    INSTALMENT 

"That  is  a  good  beginning.  You  know  how,  out  of  the 
kindness  of  their  hearts,  my  brother  and  sister  gave  you  a 
home.  Don't  you  think  that  you  ought  to  go  away,  will- 
ingly and  making  them  no  trouble,  when  they  ask  you  to 
do  so?" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Heilig,  certainly;  but  they  have  not  asked 
me." 

"I  ask  you  now,  on  their  behalf." 

"Why  do  they  not  do  it ?" 

Cassandra  hesitated  to  make  the  demolishing  reply  to 
such  a  young,  fair-minded  opponent,  and  the  hesitation 
lost  her  the  lead.  Bertha  addressed  Susanna: 

"Do  you  tell  me  to  go?" 

"I  told  you  weeks  ago,  and  you  have  not  forgotten  it." 

"I  have  not.  Since  then,  no  one  else  having  been  able 
to  do  so,  I  have  brought  it  about  that  your  crops  are  har- 
vested, your  stock  is  replenished,  your  barn  is  rising  higher 
daily,  and  your  mill  is  run.  I  have  kept  your  house  going, 
cooked  your  food  and  washed  your  clothes,  and  made  it 
possible  for  you  to  stay  with  your  son  Jesse  day  and  night, 
and  nurse  him  back  into  this  world.  It  is  thanks  to  me 
that  you  have  had  time  to  think  hard  things  of  me." 

Throwing  herself  forward  in  her  chair,  Henrietta  inter- 
posed, rapidly:  "There  has  been  enough  of  this.  Don't 
answer  her,  Susanna." 

Bertha  passed  her  over  with  a  look,  and  said  to  Cassan- 
dra: "Mrn  Heilig,  you  have  spoken  kindly  to  me,  and  I 
say  to  you  that  the  moment  your  brother,  who  first  em- 
ployed me,  tells  me  to  go,  I  shall  go.  If  he  has  no  further 
use  for  me,  why  does  he  not  say  so  ?" 

"Your  employer  is  not  himself  now,"  Cassandra  began. 
But  Henrietta,  who  had  been  biting  her  lips,  broke  in  again: 

207 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

"I  cannot  stand  this  exchanging  words.  Susanna,  it  is 
time  for  you  to  go  with  me.  This  girl  has  no  intention  of 
leaving  what  she  has  got." 

"Listen,"  Bertha  said  to  her.  "I  have  known  you  as  a 
good  woman,  and  I  believe  that  you  can  understand  what 
I  feel  and  what  I  am  trying  to  do.  I  know  well  how  friend- 
less I  was  when  I  was  taken  into  this  house — when  I  forget 
that,  may  I  forget  everything  else  too.  There  has  not  been 
an  hour  when  I  was  not  grateful — and  what  mischief  I 
have  done  I  know;  and  I  stay  here  to  make  it  right.  I 
don't  see  how  I  can  do  it  all;  I  cannot  plan  it,  but  I  believe 
that  ways  will  be  shown  to  me.  The  damage  to  the  farm  I 
am  repairing,  and  for  Jonathan  I  have  already  paid.  Yes, 
I  have  already  paid  that,  although  his  mother  was  not  to 
hear  it  yet.  I  might  have  been  his  wife,  and  I  would  not, 
although  I  love  him  as  well  as  ever  you  three  loved  your 
husbands  when  you  were  as  young  as  I.  I  let  you  know 
it,  though  I  did  not  let  him  know  it.  Now,  won't  any  of 
you  see  that  I  only  want  to  pay  my  debts  ?  Won't  any  of 
you  ?" 

Cassandra  would  have  said  something  not  unkind,  but 
Henrietta  got  ahead  of  her: 

"How  do  you  expect  to  pay  for  firing  the  barn  and 
wheat  ?" 

"I?"  said  Bertha.     "I  burn  the  barn  and  wheat?" 

"What  is  the  good  of  acting  the  hypocrite  when  your 
mistress  knows  it  ?" 

After  a  moment  Bertha  placed  herself  before  Susanna, 
and  said:  "I  want  to  talk  to  you  alone,  immediately.  You 
had  better  come.  If  you  don't,  you  will  think  that  you 
never  knew  what  it  means  to  be  sorry." 

Both  Cassandra  and  Henrietta  were  intent,  neither  say- 

208 


THE    SECOND    INSTALMENT 

ing  a  word,  for  the  former  was  extremely  anxious  that  she 
should  go,  the  latter  that  she  should  not.  She  did  go,  eager- 
ly. Although  she  followed  into  the  long-unused  family 
sitting-room,  yet  when  the  door  was  closed  and  they  were 
shut  in  together,  it  could  not  have  been  told  from  their 
bearing  which  one  had  demanded  the  interview.  There 
was  no  more  hope  of  getting  rid  of  Bertha,  but  she  rejoiced 
to  be  at  close  quarters  with  the  girl  who  seemed  to  embody 
all  her  troubles. 

Bertha  turned  sharply  around,  and  said,  "You  told  them 
that  I  started  the  fire." 

"You  mistake  the  beginning,"  said  Susanna,  leisurely. 
"The  first  thing  for  you  to  do  is  to  explain  the  charge  you 
made  against  the  principles  and  the  common  sense  of  my 
son  Jonathan." 

"What  charge?" 

"That  he  asked  you  to  be  his  wife." 

"Don't  you  believe  that?" 

"Hardly." 

"You  will  believe  it  when  he  tells  you.  In  the  mean 
time  I  shall  tell  you  that  I  refused  him  because  I  knew 
what  a  grief  it  would  be  to  you,  and  because  I  would  not 
plant  myself  where  I  am  not  wanted.  You  said  I  kept 
him  here  when  you  would  have  had  him  in  the  ministry. 
Well,  now  I  give  him  back  to  you,  and  that  settles  that  be- 
tween us.  Now  I  ask  you,  Why  did  you  say  that  I  am 
responsible  for  the  fire  ?" 

"Because  you  are,  and  for  everything  else  that  has  gone 
wrong  here.  Do  you  think  you  can  stop  me  from  speaking 
the  truth  ?" 

"On  the  contrary,  I  am  going  to  see  that  you  do  speak 
it;  and  to  insure  that,  I  am  going  to  tell  a  piece  of  it  now 

209 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

myself.  I  saw  who  made  that  fire,  and  it  was  your  son 
Antony." 

"Try  to  He  more  credibly." 

"Take  your  own  advice.  That  night  I  went  to  my  room 
from  Jesse's  and  sat  there  in  the  dark,  aiyl  I  saw  what  hap- 
pened between  Antony  and  his  father.  Much  later  I  heard 
steps  under  my  window,  and  there  was  Antony  again.  I 
saw  him  walk  over  toward  the  barn;  shortly  afterward  I 
saw  him  go  through  the  nearest  wheat-field,  throwing 
lighted  matches  among  the  wheat.  Then  I  saw  the  fire  in 
the  barn,  and  came  to  tell  Mr.  Heilig." 

"Do  you  expect  me  to  believe  you  ?" 

"Others  will.  Look  at  it  for  yourself:  I  was  with  Jesse 
until  late  that  night;  I  was  the  first  to  tell  you  about  the 
fire,  I  helped  to  put  it  out;  I  have  done  everything  possible 
.  for  all  of  you  since.  Who  is  guilty  ?  I  ?  Or  Antony,  who 
was  half  drunk,  who  had  a  quarrel  with  his  father  just  be- 
fore, and  was  found  on  the  far  edge  of  the  wheat-land  just 
after  ?  Which  will  people  believe  ?" 

"You  will  find  out.  The  story  that  you  did  it  has  already 
started  on  its  way." 

"Very  well.  I  told  you  this  privately  to  give  you  a  chance 
to  conceal  it;  but  if  you  spread  your  report,  I  spread  mine." 

The  excitement  began  to  die  down  in  both  of  them,  as 
discussion  seemed  to  be  impossible;  and  Bertha,  gazing 
thoughtfully  at  Susanna,  said:  "I  don't  see  what  your 
purpose  was  in  saying  this.  I  don't  believe  that  you  be- 
lieve it  yourself.  Look  me  in  the  face  and  tell  me  that  you 
think  I  made  that  fire!" 

"It  is  not  for  you  to  judge  what  I  believe;  but  why  do 
I  say  that  ?  Talk  as  you  like,  I  am  going  now.  Does  it 
make  you  happy  to  think  that  I  have  lost  everything 

210 


THE    SECOND    INSTALMENT 

through  you  ?  One  thing  only  I  have  saved,  and  that  is 
the  memory  of  my  son  Antony." 

"You  have  saved  Antony's  memory  ?  What  do  you 
mean?  Wait!  Did  you  accuse  me  because  it  is  already 
said  that  he  did  it?" 

"I  know  that  you  are  the  one." 

"Has  it  been  said  about  him  ?  I  see  in  your  face  that  it 
has.  Wait!  Here  is  my  opportunity.  I  will  not  tell;  I 
promise  you  I  will  not  tell.  He  said  I  owed  him  something, 
and  now  I  can  pay  both  him  and  you.  This  is  a  way  to 
pay — by  letting  every  one  think  that  I  did  it,  and  not  he — 
but  such  an  awful  way!  However,  thank  God  that  I  have 
any  way!  I  will  say  nothing,  not  a  word." 

She  ran  out  of  the  room,  her  body  shrinking  like  the 
body  of  a  thin,  over-worked  animal  when  it  runs;  she  could 
not  control  her  weeping,  and  could  not  see  who  Job  was 
when  he  came  toward  her  in  the  hall.  He  looked  after 
her,  looked  at  the  door  through  which  she  had  dashed,  and 
went  on  toward  it. 

Susanna  heard  the  step,  and  could  not  believe  that  she 
recognized  it :  it  was  weak  but  not  uncertain;  and  she  would 
have  found  the  entrance  of  Antony  less  incredible  than 
Job  with  that  demeanor.  He  was  erect;  his  face,  marked 
by  spiritual  hard  living,  expressed  concentration  upon  an 
important  purpose;  he  looked  more  the  head  of  a  clan 
than  ever. 

The  moment  during  which  they  took  stock  of  each  other 
was  severe  for  both. 

Job  spoke:  "Cassandra  informs  me  that  Bertha  burned 
the  barn  and  wheat.  Do  you  know  anything  about  that 
story  ?" 

"I  told  Henrietta,  and  she  told  Cassandra." 

211 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

"Why  did  you  ?" 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  it  is  not  the  truth." 

"Do  you  know  that?" 

Her  reply  did  not  deter  him  at  all.  "I  do  know  it,"  he 
answered,  "and  so  do  you,  and  so  would  any  one  who 
knew  the  events  of  that  night,  and  what  the  girl  has  done 
since.  This  sounds  like  the  report  of  a  crazy  person." 

"It  sounds  sensible  to  me,"  said  Susanna,  with  indiffer- 
ence. "However,  sensible  or  not,  and  true  or  not,  it  is 
well  on  its  way  through  the  county  by  this  time,  and  it  will 
do  what  I  intended  it  to  do  when  I  started  it.  There  will 
be  no  more  mention  of  Antony  in  this  connection." 

"Antony?     And  you  started  it?" 

"Just  so.  It  was  going  about  that  your  barn  and  wheat 
were  burned  by  my  son  Antony;  and  although  I  believe  it 
to  be  true  that  she  did  it,  I  would  declare  her  or  you  or  my- 
self to  be  the  guilty  one,  although  I  knew  it  to  be  a  devilish 
lie,  rather  than  that  such  a  thing  should  be  said  of  him." 

"You  know  who  made  that  fire,  Susanna;  and  I  know, 
though  until  now  I  was  glad  not  to  say  so;  but  rather  than 
see  this  wrong  done,  I  shall  publish  that  Antony  did  it." 

"I  can't  help  that,"  said  she,  trembling,  but  maintaining 
her  indifference.  "I  have  nothing  to  say  to  what  you  do. 
I  have  lived  in  your  house  as  long  as  I  can.  I  am  going, 
and  if  Jesse  so  chooses  I  shall  take  him  with  me." 

"Why  do  you  want  to  go  ?" 

"Because  I  no  longer  know  you,  and  it  is  not  decent 
that  I  should  live  with  you,"  she  answered,  with  the  hard 
logic  of  the  desolate. 

The  two  who  had  been  companions  year  in,  year  out,  for 
thirty  years,  stood  and  looked  at  each  other. 

212 


THE    SECOND    INSTALMENT 

"So  you  want  to  leave  me,"  said  he,  slowly. 

"Did  you  think  there  was  no  end  to  what  you  could  do 
to  me  ?  How  you  have  made  me  suffer  while  you  were 
busy  with — what  were  you  doing  ?  Reckoning  up  last 
year's  dandelions  ?" 

"Susanna,  will  you  listen  to  me?" 

His  voice  appealed,  not  for  justice  but  for  sympathy — the 
man's  appeal  to  the  woman:  it  was  a  tone  of  thirty  years 
before. 

"  Don't  stand  there.  Won't  you  sit  by  me  ?  Over  there, 
then.  There  is  much  that  I  should  have  known  and  did 
not  know  until  now.  I  want  to  talk  with  you,  then  I  shall 
leave  you  free." 

Before  beginning  he  was  silent  for  a  moment,  and  he 
took  pains  with  what  he  said;  and  she  awaited  his  state- 
ment watchfully,  with  eyes  full  of  passion  thrown  back 
upon  itself. 

"After  what  happened  to  us,  I  could  not  live  as  I  had 
done.  That  my  nearest  friends  were  not  anxious  to  judge 
me  kindly  showed  how  unsuccessful  my  life  had  been,  and 
I  thought  that  the  fault  was  in  my  understanding  of  things, 
and  that  I  could  discover  and  correct  it,  and  begin  afresh 
in  virtue.  I  was  proud.  Being  proved  wrong  when  I  had 
done  my  best  to  be  right,  I  thought  myself  fooled  and  a 
sport  for — Him  who  looks  down  upon  us.  Wrong  I  would 
not  be.  Therefore,  I  would  do  nothing  until  I  had  satisfied 
myself  that  I  was  grounded  rightly,  and  I  would  allow  those 
who  depended  on  me  to  do  nothing.  This  girl's  actions 
were  not  my  care;  and  she  begged  permission  to  work  out 
a  debt  she  felt  to  us,  and  I  gave  it." 

He  allowed  her  to  survey  what  he  laid  before  her,  assum- 
ing wifely  comprehension  on  her  part;  and  she  noted  how 

213 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

short  a  time  it  took  him  to  dispose  of  the  subject  of  the 
girl  and  put  it  out  of  his  mind. 

"I  never  imagined  that  my  waiting  for  the  truth — I 
meant  it  for  that — could  make  you  unhappy,  but  I  see  now 
that  I  have  been  indulging  myself  at  your  expense.  You 
thought  that  we  had  all  forsaken  you — you  even  thought 
that  I  had.  You  were  miserable.  You  said  what  you  did 
about  the  cause  of  the  fire  because  it  seemed  that  you  had 
only  Antony  left." 

Now  he  gave  her  an  opportunity  to  reply,  and  she  did 
not;  but  her  face  quivered. 

"I  have  learned  something,"  he  continued,  in  a  tone  of 
even  more  intimate  confidence.  "God  gave  me  enough 
when  he  made  me  so  that  I  must  work  to  be  happy,  and 
then  gave  me  work  to  do.  He  owes  me  no  explanation; 
I  have  no  deserts.  Work  is  good.  I  need  to  know  no  more 
than  that.  I  will  go  back  to  work.  You  bring  me  back." 

With  the  declaration  his  voice  became  stronger.  His 
decisive  movement,  turning  his  body  entirely  toward  her, 
indicated  a  like  turning  of  himself;  it  was  the  movement 
of  a  man  impassioned  and  not  old. 

"Susanna,  now  I  know  how  unhappy  I  have  made  you, 
and  I  have  tried  to  explain  myself  to  you;  and  for  what  I 
have  brought  on  you  I  ask  your  pardon.  Will  you  grant 
it?  You  and  I  have  much  between  us;  since  you  came  to 
me  first,  thirty  years  have  gone.  I  asked  you,  then,  with  a 
great  wish  to  have  you;  now  my  wish  to  keep  you  is  in- 
creased by  the  measure  of  those  thirty  years.  Will  you 
come  to  me  again  ?" 

She  clasped  her  hands  until  the  interlaced  fingers  writhed, 
and  said  nothing;  but  her  husband  saw  that  it  was  because 
she  could  not.  He  went  to  her. 

214 


THE    SECOND    INSTALMENT 

Some  time  later  they  started  out  together  to  go  over  the 
farm.  Cassandra  and  Henrietta  saw  them  from  a  window, 
and  went  to  the  carriage  beaming  and  walking  softly,  and 
unconsciously  spoke  to  each  other  in  whispers,  lest  the  two 
should  be  disturbed. 


XV 
ESTHER'S  PRIVATE  ACCOUNT 

ARE  you  very  tired?" 
"Not  at  all — I  had  a  good  day — but  very  hungry." 

"The  hot  water  is  waiting  for  you,  and  supper  will  be 
on  the  table  by  the  time  you  are  ready." 

Esther  had  been  knitting  when  she  heard  coming  up  the 
stairs  the  steps  which  marked  the  divisions  of  her  day,  and 
her  needles  and  her  rose-colored  ball  were  still  in  one  hand, 
her  face  still  upturned  from  receiving  her  husband's  saluta- 
tion. The  transient  attitude  lasted  because,  although  they 
had  nothing  more  to  say  just  then,  he  did  not  go  into  the 
other  room  at  once;  the  two  pairs  of  eyes  looked  satisfied 
to  behold  each  other,  and  there  was  an  undertone  of  con- 
tent in  the  voices. 

When  he  did  go  she  set  to  work,  with  her  characteristic 
quick,  quiet  movements.  Housekeeping  was  not  hard  in 
the  little  space  she  had  to  cover;  it  was  not  a  neighborhood 
of  large  spaces.  The  high  brick  wall  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street  stood  only  a  few  feet  away;  her  two  rooms  com- 
prised the  whole  second  story  of  the  house;  and  the  unsuc- 
cessful elderly  couple  down-stairs  could  hear  almost  as 
well  as  Saul  could  the  song  which  she  began  to  sing. 

Small  as  the  place  was,  it  did  not  look  crowded,  because 
everything  in  it  was  so  useful;  nor  characterless,  because  a 

216 


ESTHER'S    PRIVATE    ACCOUNT 

sentiment  pervaded  each  article  of  furniture.  The  sofa, 
which  offered  no  compromises  to  the  weak,  the  cupboard, 
of  large  size  and  miscellaneous  adaptabilities,  and  the  single 
strip  of  rag-carpet  on  the  splintery  floor,  all  suggested  that 
they  were  rented  and  the  cheerless  service  in  which  they 
had  grown  shabby.  They  were  too  old  to  acquire  a  pleas- 
ant expression,  but  the  rest  of  the  furniture  had  it:  a  bridal 
quality  appeared  in  the  new  chairs,  which  were  two,  and 
in  the  table,  which  could  be  made  to  seat  three  but  would 
rather  not.  After  much  coaxing,  Esther  had  been  per- 
mitted to  buy  with  her  own  money  the  stove,  which  was  not 
an  economical  one  and  embodied  her  anticipation  of  the 
time  when  they  should  have  a  whole  house. 

She  made  good  use  of  it  now,  converting  her  skill  as  a 
cook  into  an  offering  to  her  husband,  as  she  did  three  times 
a  day.  Because  he  liked  to  see  flowers,  she  took  pleasure 
in  placing  on  the  table  a  little  glass  of  goldenrod,  of  which 
the  fluffy  gold  was  already  embrowned  by  the  cold  nights 
of  late  September.  Then  she  awaited  him  with  a  happy 
air.  That  was  the  clear  sign  of  the  change  which  had 
taken  place  in  her  since  she  left  the  Thai.  In  appearance 
she  was  not  much  changed:  she  had  neither  gained  nor 
lost  flesh,  her  dress  was  the  same,  and  she  was  only  a  little 
paler  from  living  in  town;  but  she  was  now  mistress  of  her 
circumstances,  and  the  content  which  made  an  undertone 
in  her  voice  was  the  substratum  of  her  formerly  harassed 
personality.  The  appearance  of  Saul,  who  quickly  returned, 
corroborated  hers.  Away  from  his  rustic  surroundings  and 
autocracy  of  children,  he  had  grown  leaner  and  straighter, 
and  he  looked  both  more  flexible  and  more  definite.  A 
stranger  would  have  perceived  in  connection  with  this  pair 
a  background  of  dramatic  happenings.  Their  talk,  how- 

217 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

ever,  contained  no  reference  to  the  past  or  the  distant; 
they  were  as  placidly  engrossed  with  the  events  of  the  day 
as  if  they  had  been  two  merpeople. 

Taking  their  places  at  the  two  front  windows,  when  the 
pleasant  meal  was  over,  they  made  no  pretext  of  occupation 
with  anything  but  each  other.  The  little  room  had  now 
assumed  its  most  social  aspect:  a  charm  was  imparted  to 
it,  and  even  to  the  outlook,  by  the  change  from  daylight  to 
dusk;  and  at  the  end  of  the  street  could  be  seen  a  narrow 
strip  of  sunset.  Evening  had  not  yet  begun,  nor  the  even- 
ing noises,  and  the  voices  of  playing  children  were  not 
discordant. 

"I  have  fifteen  caps  to  take  to  the  store  to-morrow," 
Esther  remarked.  "They  will  bring  me  quite  a  lot  of 
money.  I  feel  rich." 

She  opened  a  drawer  in  the  cupboard  and  began  to 
hand  him  caps,  every  one  of  which  he  examined  devotedly. 
They  were  skilfully  knitted  of  wool  of  various  colors,  all 
bright,  and  the  patterns  and  the  silk  tippings  were  the 
product  of  an  imagination  that  made  stitches  as  a  Moorish 
artist  made  arabesques. 

"These  are  not  all  the  order,"  she  continued.  "I  have 
six  black  ones  and  three  brown  to  make,  which  I  have  been 
putting  off  because  it  is  so  much  pleasanter  to  use  bright 
colors." 

"I  don't  see  how  I  can  let  you  do  this,  Esther." 

"Don't  think  of  it  in  that  solemn  way — that  you  are 
letting  your  wife  work  for  money.  Think  that  I  always 
did  love  to  knit,  and  when  I  am  knitting  it  does  not  seem 
so  long  until  you  come  home." 

"Very  well;  if  you  spend  the  money  for  yourself — some- 
'  thing  unnecessary." 


ESTHER'S  PRIVATE  ACCOUNT 

Although  she  was  not  even  very  near  him,  her  reply  sug- 
gested a  persuasive  caress.  "I  have  a  plan  about  that 
money." 

"I  see  it  is  something  that  I  cannot  let  you  do,"  he  said, 
smiling,  but  not  agreeing. 

"Yes,  you  can.  If  I  take  my  pay  in  trade  they  will  al- 
low me  more,  and  I  can  buy  all  our  groceries  for  a  long 
time.  I  should  be  so  pleased  to  think  I  had  done  that." 

"Esther,  I  simply  can't — " 

Their  opposing  wishes,  each  wanting  to  make  it  easy  for 
the  other,  were  energetically  urged  by  both;  and  she  won 
her  point,  although  he  did  not  exactly  yield. 

"Don't  you  need  something  for  yourself  now  ?"  he  asked, 
hoping  to  even  up  matters. 

"I  need  a  hat,  but  I  shall  wait  to  get  it  until  they  are 
marked  down." 

"How  about  dresses  ?" 

"I  need  none  now,  really." 

Against  these  refusals,  which  were  made  with  much 
satisfaction,  Saul  protested,  stipulating  for  a  good  hat  and 
insisting  on  a  dress;  and  the  talk  went  on,  broken  by  com- 
fortable silences.  In  Esther's  hands  a  rose-colored  cap 
grew  larger;  Saul's  hands  were  idle,  and  looked  contented. 
They  watched  the  advance  of  the  evening  and  the  few 
passers-by.  An  Italian  organ-man  was  one,  and  a  priest, 
with  his  distinctive  collar  and  his  cross;  both  of  whom,  to 
the  country  pair,  were  strangers  from  far  out  in  the  world. 
It  was  a  satisfactory  time. 

A  ring  at  the  bell  interrupted  it;  then  sounds  of  some  one 
coming  who  did  not  know  the  stairs,  and  a  knock. 

Saul  opened  the  door.  At  first  he  did  not  recognize  the 
woman,  who  turned  out  to  be  Bertha. 

219 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

Dressed  in  black  and  indistinctly  seen,  her  attitude  was 
almost  hovering.  To  the  two  this  was  a  subversive  pres- 
ence; coming  from  a  life  which  they  had  put  behind  them, 
it  brought  back  the  past  phase.  The  part,  both  conscious 
and  unconscious,  which  the  stranger  had  played  in  the 
most  intimate  concern  of  her  life,  came  with  the  stranger 
to  Esther's  mind;  and  the  contrast  between  the  help  she 
had  then  needed  to  get  her  to  her  husband,  and  her  entrench- 
ment with  him  now,  made  her  suddenly  and  actively  happy. 
She  put  an  end  to  the  hesitation  by  embracing  Bertha,  and 
exclaiming,  "Can  it  be  that  you  have  found  us?" 

"I  wanted  very  much  to  see  you,"  Bertha  explained,  "so 
I  talked  to  Jesse.  You  know  he  is  the  one  to  consult  about 
ways  and  means.  He  said  it  was  likely  that  you" — she 
looked  past  Esther  to  Saul — "were  here  with  one  of  the 
paper-hangers;  so  I  came  to-day,  and  I  got  a  list,  and  went 
from  one  to  another  until  I  heard  of  you." 

They  urged  her  to  eat,  but  she  declined;  and  then  asked, 
diffidently,  if  they  wanted  to  hear  about  the  Thai,  and  if 
they  had  heard  anything. 

The  manner  of  all  three  showed  recognition  of  the  fact 
that  here  the  simplest  question  might  be  equivalent  to  a 
slur  upon  the  action  of  Saul  and  Esther;  and  in  Esther 
there  was  also  a  sudden  heaviness  of  sorrow  not  otherwise 
shown. 

"We  have  heard  something,"  said  she.  "The  news- 
papers told  us  about  the  fire  and  the  accident  to  Jesse,  and 
about  Antony;  and  two  or  three  times  we  have  met  people 
from  that  part  of  the  county.  Tell  us  how  it  all  was." 

Bertha  gave  a  simple  account,  and  they  listened,  with  no 
outbursts.  Esther's  tears,  which  came  quietly,  were  quietly 
removed.  When  it  was  finished,  Saul  asked: 

220 


ESTHER'S    PRIVATE    ACCOUNT 

"What  are  the  prospects  for  Jesse?" 

"He  is  certainly  recovering,  slow  as  it  is.  The  doctor 
assures  us  that  he  will  be  entirely  well  in  time." 

"And  my  aunt  and  uncle  ?" 

"They  have  resumed  charge  of  everything.  Your  cousin 
Jonathan  is  assisting;  and  so  was  I,  until  to-day." 

Bertha's  voice  trembled  slightly. 

"It  is  strange  to  me  about  that  fire,"  said  Esther,  in  a 
low  tone  of  difficult  self-control.  "How  did  it  start  ?" 

"That  has  not  been  found  out.  At  first  your  father  and 
mother  were  too  deep  in  sorrow  to  pay  attention  to  the 
question;  but  when  they  heard  that  it  was  being  talked 
about,  they  said  to  many  people  that  no  one  knew,  and 
that  it  looked  like  the  work  of  a  malicious  tramp.  This 
theory  satisfied  the  people,  and  they  soon  began  to  talk 
about  other  things." 

Divining  back  of  the  brief  account  some  sort  of  difficult 
explanation,  both  hearers  postponed  their  questions. 

"Then  the  Thai  is  returning  to  itself?"  Saul  said,  as  a 
happy  summing  up. 

"It  is.  The  harvesting  is  done,  work  is  going  on  as  it 
should,  the  barn  is  progressing  well,  and  the  miller  who 
held  off  so  long  has  come  to  run  the  mill  until  Jesse  c?r 
go  back." 

There  was  a  long  silence;  and  after  a  little  more  talk, 
Saul  made  a  slight  excuse  and  went  out.  His  departure 
momentarily  obscured  in  his  wife's  mind  even  the  serious 
news  which  she  had  been  hearing. 

"So  this  is  your  new  home  ?"  said  Bertha. 

"Yes;   this  is  my  home." 

Esther  showed  both  rooms,  and  called  attention  to  the' 
facilities. 

221 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

When  the  two  friends  had  sat  down  again,  she  was  so 
impressed  with  the  serious  anticipativeness  of  Bertha's 
manner  that  she  waited  without  introducing  another  sub- 
ject of  conversation,  and  after  awhile  she  put  the  question: 

"Bertha,  did  you  take  all  this  trouble  to  find  us  only  to 
see  me,  or  is  there  a  special  reason  ?" 

"I  have  wanted  to  see  you  more  and  more  ever  since 
you  went;  but  there  is  a  special  reason,  too.  I  am  here 
to  ask  you  to  come  home.'* 

"Why  do  you  come  for  that  purpose  ?"  asked  Esther. 

"I  am  not  surprised  that  you  think  me  presuming.  I 
am  presuming;  but  there  is  something  that  you  ought  to 
know;  and  if  you  would  listen,  and  take  my  information 
for  what  it  is  worth —  I  believe  you  would  come  if  it  were 
put  before  you." 

With  the  situation  which  was  before  her,  to  listen  or  not 
to  what  might  tear  her  happiness  up  by  the  roots,  Esther 
dealt  quickly.  "What  have  you  to  tell  me  ?  If  I  went,  I 
don't  believe  they  would  let  me  in." 

"They  want  you  to  come  home  more  than  anything  else 
in  the  world;  it  would  do  more  than  anything  else  can  do 
to  restore  the  Thai.  That  is  what  I  have  to  tell  you.  Both 
your  brothers  knew  that  I  was  coming." 

"How  is  it,  really,  with  my  dear  father?" 

The  story  was  retold,  with  a  different  construction :  the 
events  were  shown  with  reference  to  their  effect  upon  Job, 
and  Bertha  put  into  it  the  sympathy  of  her  own  participa- 
tion with  middle  life  grief-stricken.  "Your  father  thought 
that  all  this  had  happened  because  he  had  been  wrong  in 
his  ideas  of  conduct,"  she  concluded.  "If  you  come  back, 
I  believe  he  would  take  it  for  a  sign  of  blessing.  And  there 
is  one  who  cannot  come  back." 

222 


ESTHER'S    PRIVATE    ACCOUNT 

"You  are  in  mourning,  I  see.  I  have  a  black  dress,  too, 
for  Antony,"  said  Esther,  with  sudden,  incoherent  bitter- 
ness, which  took  the  place  of  a  burst  of  weeping. 

Bertha  allowed  her  plenty  of  time,  intent  as  the  waiting 
was  until  she  spoke  again.  "You  give  me  excellent  rea- 
sons for  going,  and  it  is  a  great  thing  to  hear  that  they 
would  let  me  in.  You  don't  know  how  I  long  to  see 
them." 

"Will  you  come  with  me  to-morrow?" 

"It  does  not  depend  on  me,  but  on  what  Saul  says." 

"Surely  you  will  decide  for  yourself  to  go  to  your  own 
mother  and  father!" 

"I  am  Esther  Gantner  now." 

Bertha  tried  a  little  urging,  but  made  no  headway,  and 
subsided  into  a  dazzled  silence. 

"You  don't  understand,  do  you?"  Esther  said.  "You 
will  some  time." 

"You  seem  so  far  away,  Esther." 

"I  am  not  far  away  from  you,  and  never  shall  be,  because 
you  helped  me  on  that  night.  I  think  you  are  more  changed 
than  I  am.  When  you  tried  to  persuade  me  not  to  leave 
home,  it  was  done  with  all  your  heart.  Now  you  are  trying 
again  to  persuade  me;  but  you  do  it  as  if  you  had  made  up 
your  mind  to  it  long  ago,  and  would  not  give  up  your 
determination." 

"I  don't  know  how  to  reach  you  because  I  do  not  find 
you  as  you  were.  How  can  it  be  that  you  await  permission 
to  go  to  your  own  home  ?" 

Esther  replied  slowly,  selecting,  and  reserving  much. 
"  What  the  child  owes  the  parents  is  very  great,  but  what 
the  wife  owes  the  husband  is  more,  and  my  debt  to  my 
husband  is  greater  than  that  of  most  women.  I  know  it. 

223 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

Since  I  left  my  father's  house  I  have  had  plenty  of  time  to 
think  of  things.*' 

"Can  the  marriage  ceremony  make  so  much  differ- 
ence ?" 

"It  is  not  the  marriage  ceremony;  that  is  only  a  confirma- 
tion. The  real  thing  begins  when  you  have  once  given  all 
up  to  your  man  and  he  to  you,  and  there  are  many  ways 
to  do  that." 

"Are  you  very  happy?"  asked  Bertha,  timidly. 

"Very  happy." 

"Has  it  been  worth  it?" 

"It  has  been  worth  everything — though  it  should  end 
to-night.  Don't  be  distressed,  Bertha.  If  Saul  consents, 
I  shall  go  with  you.  I  want  to  go.  Bertha,  what  has  come 
to  you  ?  Lift  your  head.  I  believe  that  now  you  under- 
stand what  love  is.  No?  Not  yet?" 

Esther's  imagination  had  never  been  so  stirred  on  behalf 
of  another  as  it  was  during  the  hour  which  passed  before 
Saul  came  home;  during  which  Bertha,  influenced  by  the 
meeting  with  an  ideal  as  powerful  as  her  own,  confided  a 
good  deal  of  her  part  and  of  her  motives.  Seeing  that 
Esther  had  been  wrought  upon,  though  she  did  not  seem 
unhappy,  Saul  was  glad  when  the  arrangements  for  the 
night  were  made,  the  stranger  gone  to  the  bed  procured 
for  her,  and  Esther  free  to  make  disclosures.  However, 
she  postponed  them,  suggesting  that  they  should  sit  at  the 
windows  for  a  while,  and  that  a  light  was  not  needed;  and 
they  resumed  the  places  where  they  had  sat  in  the  beginning 
of  the  evening,  which  now  seemed  long  past. 

When  she  did  lay  before  her  husband  the  new  facts,  he 
was  so  slow  to  speak  that  she  prompted  him  by  asking 
whether  she  should  go. 

224 


ESTHER'S  PRIVATE  ACCOUNT 

"I  want  you  to  do  what  you  want  to  do,"  he  said,  in  his 
quietest  manner. 

"When  Bertha  came,  and  still  more  when  you  went  out, 
I  saw  that  you  did  not  approve." 

"I  was  afraid  that  she  would  make  you  unhappy.  She 
is  the  first  person  you  have  seen  from  home,  and  you  have 
had  enough  sorrow  coming  to  you." 

"You  went  away  so  that  I  could  hear  everything  she  had 
to  say,  and  make  my  own  choice,  didn't  you,  Saul  ?  Well, 
now  I  shall  make  it.  We  have  often  said  that  we  would 
not  go  back  until  we  could  go  together,  so  well  off  that  we 
could  compel  their  approval;  and  although  I  think  that 
you  have  already  done  enough  to  show  them  that  I  made 
a  good  choice,  I  know  you  do  not  think  so,  and  I  am  going 
to  wait  for  you." 

"You  would  have  to  wait  a  long  while.  I  have  not  done 
much  yet,  Esther." 

"It  is  a  welcome  opportunity,  dear." 

Although  he  asked  an  explanation,  she  would  say  no 
more  on  the  subject,  and  talked  in  a  cheerful  way  about 
other  things.  He  made  scarcely  any  answer,  and  presently 
put  an  end  to  her  diversion  by  stretching  out  his  hand  to 
her,  and  saying:  "Esther,  come  here  to  me.  Do  you  want 
to  leave  me  ?" 

What  she  had  felt,  during  the  period  of  her  exile  and  in 
the  evening  before  they  went  away  together,  came  back  to 
her,  now  that  their  positions  were  reversed.  "To  leave 
you!"  she  said.  "Saul,  although  hve  months  have  passed, 
I  cannot  yet  believe  that  you  will  really  come  home  to  me 
each  day.  And  do  I  not  know  what  you  sacrificed  for 
me?" 

"It  is  like  you  to  think  that,  when  you  were  the  one  who 

225 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

sacrificed.  Are  you  sure  that  if  you  go  back  and  see  them 
all,  and  the  old  home,  you  can  be  satisfied  to  return  ?" 

"It  will  be  my  pride  that  I  have  the  right  to  return.  You 
have  not  given  me  one  unhappy  memory  in  our  lives." 

"Then  go,  dear,  by  all  means.  I  have  been  a  selfish 
fellow.  Though  I  did  not  lose  sight  of  your  position,  and 
though  I  knew  that  I  ought  to  insist  on  your  going  back 
and  making  the  attempt,  at  least,  to  be  reconciled  to  your 
father,  I  was  too  much  afraid  of  losing  you.  I  put  it  off 
from  day  to  day,  while  I  worked  ahead  and  was  just  happy 
in  having  you.  Have  you  been  wanting  to  go  before 
to-night  ?" 

"Yes;  but  not  so  much  as  I  wanted  to  stay.  Now  I  can 
go,  since  you  are  willing." 

For  the  first  time  since  the  night  of  their  departure  they 
had  the  feeling  of  separation  averted;  and  it  drew  them 
closer,  as  did  the  physical  separation  which  was  near. 
When  the  details  of  her  going  had  been  settled,  they  re- 
called that  night  and  its  charms.  Bertha's  assistance  was 
mentioned,  and  Saul  asked  what  had  caused  the  change  in 
her. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Esther,  "but  I  believe  that  she  had 
never  thought  of  any  one  as  we  think  of  each  other.  She 
has  a  strange  idea  that  she  is  responsible  for  the  misfortunes 
in  the  Thai,  and  she  wants  to  pay  them  off.  It  is  a  good 
thing,  that  uprightness." 

"And  you  think  that  now  she  has  learned,"  said  he,  not 
noticing  the  second  remark.  "Well,  we  should  know  by 
sympathy.  We  have  come  to  be  good  judges." 

They  sat  late  at  the  window,  because  when  they  moved 
it  would  soon  be  time  for  Esther  to  go;  and  in  the  morning 
the  gayety  over  the  meal  with  their  first  guest  was  not  really 

226 


ESTHER'S    PRIVATE    ACCOUNT 

very  gay.  As  the  battered  old  stage,  which  smelled  of 
smoke  and  pipes,  and  made  much  more  noise  than  its  rate 
of  progress  justified,  moved  off  with  the  girls  in  it  and  left 
Saul  standing  at  the  curb,  Esther  kept  her  eyes  on  him 
as  long  as  she  could  see  him,  and  her  thoughts  were  alto- 
gether retrogressive;  but  when  they  had  left  the  town  be- 
hind, and  had  been  out  on  the  country  road  for  a  while, 
the  country  home  to  which  she  was  going  began  to  seem 
more  real.  The  air  and  the  pleasant,  modest  prospect  of 
fields  and  woods  excited  while  they  welcomed  her:  alle- 
giances of  the  last  few  months  met  allegiances  as  old  as 
herself.  Bertha,  too,  was  a  source  of  excitement.  Al- 
though her  talk  was  all  encouraging,  Esther  missed  the 
whole-hearted  interest  which  had  made  her  such  an  in- 
fluential confidante,  and  felt  that  she  also  was  passing 
through  some  serious  experience.  Esther  found  it  hard 
to  keep  quiet,  was  glad  that  there  were  no  other  pas- 
sengers, and  set  herself  to  look  at  the  homes  along  the 
road,  to  see  what  changes  there  were  since  she  came  that 
way. 

When  the  stage  crawled  around  the  Himmelberg  and 
the  Thai  opened  out  before  her,  harvested  and  shining  and 
surrounded  by  the  mountains  in  autumn  color,  she  felt  the 
need  of  more  time  to  bear  what  was  coming.  The  driver 
was  asked  to  stop,  and  she  stepped  out  into  the  road.  She 
looked  at  the  mountains,  the  creek,  the  fields,  and  at  her 
father's  house;  and  as  she  looked  her  old  life  inundated 
her,  her  eyes  strained,  her  lips  tightened.  The  progress 
of  her  glance  was  slow,  and  she  did  not  notice  two  men 
coming  through  the  nearest  field  until  they  had  climbed 
the  fence  and  were  only  a  few  steps  away. 

Jonathan,  who  was  the  first  to  see  the  black-robed  girls 
227 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

standing  in  the  dust,  looked  overjoyed,  and  made  a  move- 
ment toward  them;  but  a  gesture  from  Bertha  kept  him 
still.  She  also  stood  still,  gazing  at  his  thin  face  and  the 
gray  hairs  on  his  temples  as  if  they  made  a  new  impression 
on  her.  Arrested  by  his  son's  halt,  Job  stopped.  To  his 
worn  countenance  the  new  signs  of  determined  negation 
of  impulses  imparted  a  quality  of  youth. 

Esther  went  toward  him  slowly,  saying,  "Father,"  as  if 
that  were  an  urgent  appeal. 

"How  is  it  that  you  are  here  ?"  he  asked;  the  two  specta- 
tors listening  to  every  inflection. 

"Bertha  came  to  the  city  and  hunted  until  she  found 
me.  She  told  me  I  might  come." 

"Bertha?     Again?" 

"Father,  may  I  go  in  ?     I  want  to  see  mother." 

"Why  did  you  go  away  from  me  as  you  did,  daughter? 
Did  you  think  you  would  be  better  off  with  him  than  with 
me  ?"  Job's  tone  reproached  her  with  depreciation  of 
what  he  had  lavished. 

"It  was  not  what  I  should  get  from  him,  but  what  I  had 
for  him.  I  had  to  give  that.  Now,  may  we  come  back  ?" 

"You  may." 

"Father,  I  do  not  ask  to  come  without  him.  Tell  me 
that  you  invite  my  husband,  or  I  must  go  again.  I  owe 
that  to  him." 

Bertha  gave  a  slight  start. 

Esther  continued:  "It  was  altogether  my  fault  that  we 
went  as  we  did.  His  heart  was  set  on  asking  nothing  of 
you  or  me  until  he  had  a  home  to  offer  me;  but  I  brought 
it  about:  to  satisfy  me  he  went  against  you  and  against  his 
own  feelings  as  a  man.  Now  I  owe  it  to  him  not  to  go 
where  he  cannot  go.  Won't  you  let  us  both  come  ?" 

228 


ESTHER'S    PRIVATE    ACCOUNT 

"I  want  you,  Esther;   but  the  man  who  took  you — " 

"No,  father;   the  man  I  chose." 

"I  want  never — " 

"Father,"  Jonathan  interposed,  "don't  say  it." 

Job  looked  around,  as  if  he  had  received  a  shock,  at  the 
son  who  was  expressing  himself  for  the  first  time  as  crown- 
prince. 

"The  thing  is  done,  and  for  my  part  I  never  disapproved 
of  it.  Esther  is  happy,  you  see  she  is;  and  she  is  dutiful 
in  asking  you  to  let  her  in,  and  her  husband." 

Before  anything  more  was  said,  Bertha  walked  away. 
Job's  children  waited  to  see  whether  he  would  listen  to 
them,  but  they  were  not  hopeful. 

He  reflected,  looking  at  the  ground. 

"I  desire  you  to  come  back,  Esther.  My  mistakes 
hitherto  have  been  many.  Yes.  Esther,  will  you  and 
Saul  come  back  ?" 

Her  father  and  her  brother  took  her  home,  where  her 
mother  was.  Jonathan  went  to  look  for  Bertha,  and  very 
soon  Esther  also  wanted  to  see  her;  but  they  could  not 
find  her. 


XVI 

THE   LARGEST  ITEM 

HPHE  bundle  was  heavy,  containing  changes  of  gar- 
1  ments,  daguerreotypes,  a  candle  and  a  box  of  matches, 
and  a  package  of  food — all  wrapped  in  an  old  shawl.  With 
this  provision  a  woman  could  live  for  a  while,  if  she  had 
water  and  a  place  to  sleep;  and  the  house  built  by  Lieb 
the  schoolmaster  offered  these  additional  necessities  to  his 
daughter,  who  unlocked  the  back  door  weakly,  placed  her 
burden  on  the  table,  and  sank  into  the  nearest  chair.  Be- 
sides the  consideration  of  her  funds,  which  were  so  small 
as  not  to  become  an  adult,  choice  brought  her  to  this  place. 
It  was  her  intention  to  put  more  than  one  city  between  her- 
self and  the  Thai;  but  first  she  desired  to  rest,  to  sleep,  and, 
emerging  from  the  state  in  which  all  companionship  but 
her  own  was  burdensome,  to  become  tranquil  and  efficient; 
and  she  hoped  much  from  the  influence  of  her  father's 
house,  and  from  its  solitude.  Here  would  be  met,  meagrely 
but  directly,  what  needs  remained  to  her;  she  was  too  tired 
to  have  many  needs.  The  effort  to  bring  Esther  home  had 
been  a  last  flicker. 

When  she  had  rested  enough  to  move,  she  closed  and 
relocked  the  door  and  opened  the  bundle.  She  would  have 
liked  to  bathe,  eat,  and  sleep  all  at  once;  and  she  did  eat, 
stooping  in  her  chair  and  with  her  lids  dropping  over  her 

230 


THE    LARGEST    ITEM 

eyes.  Then  she  lay  down,  covered  herself  with  the  shawl, 
placed  her  head  on  her  arm,  and  was  asleep. 

The  silence  was  profound;  the  light,  obscured  by  old 
green  window-shades,  was  dim.  She  slept  soundly  until, 
some  hours  later,  steps  approached  through  drifts  of  dry 
leaves.  Then,  waking  with  difficulty,  she  sat  up,  and  as- 
sured herself  by  a  look  of  anxious  recollection  that  she  had 
locked  the  door.  One  window-shade,  however,  was  about 
six  inches  above  the  sill,  and  the  room  could  be  seen  if  any 
one  peered  in.  She  could  not  lower  the  shade,  because  the 
steps  were  rapidly  approaching  that  window;  and  her  heart 
began  to  beat  hard  as  she  recognized  the  tread  of  the  per- 
son whom  she  desired  to  see  most  and  least.  So  she  moved 
with  silent  rapidity  to  a  corner,  and  flattened  herself  against 
the  wall. 

Her  hope  that  he  would  decide  from  the  uninhabited 
look  of  the  place  that  she  was  not  there,  did  not  last  long. 
He  knocked  at  the  front  door  and  at  the  back,  and  tried 
both  of  them.  Then  there  was  silence,  and  she  knew  that 
he  was  studying  the  premises.  Presently  she  saw  through 
the  unshaded  space  his  eyes,  searching  the  room  as  far  as 
they  could;  and  the  decisive  manner  in  which  he  turned 
away  and  repeated  his  summons  ended  her  other  hope: 
that  he  would  not  see  her.  Although  her  impulse  was  to 
let  him  knock,  she  decided  that  she  might  as  well  have  it 
over.  She  went  leisurely  to  the  door,  therefore,  opened  it, 
and  met  Jonathan  with  an  excellent  air  of  the  chatelaine. 

"Here  you  are,"  he  said,  looking  down  at  her  accusingly. 

"How  did  you  happen  to  hunt  for  me?  Didn't  your 
mother  find  my  letter  ?" 

"  She  had  not  when  I  left.  She  has  been  taken  up  with 
Esther  all  afternoon.  Of  course  I  thought  you  were  here 
16  231 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

when  you  were  nowhere  at  home.     We  had  better  go  down 
at  once;    night  comes  so  quickly  here  in  the  woods." 

"I  am  not  going  down,"  said  she. 

He  came  in  and  seated  himself,  with  a  very  predominant 
air.  She  sat  opposite  him,  folded  her  hands  in  her  lap,  and 
proceeded,  before  he  asked  any  questions,  "  I  intend  to  live 
in  my  own  home  for  a  while." 

"By  yourself?" 

"By  myself." 

"What  will  you  do  afterward?" 

"Look  for  work." 

"Where  ?     So  you  will  not  tell  me  ?" 

His  expression — not  smiling,  but  ready  to  fluctuate  into 
a  smile  which  should  begin  a  perfect  understanding  be- 
tween them — was  winning;  but  she  thought  that  he  was 
making  light  of  her,  and  sat  constrained  and  displeased, 
and  finally  said,  "I  promised  to  leave  the  Thai  as  soon  as 
I  had  paid,  and  I  did  leave  at  the  first  possible  moment." 

"What  determined  this  as  the  moment?" 

"I  had  paid." 

"  So  now  you  feel  yourself  free  ?" 

The  question,  by  bringing  her  achievement  all  before 
her,  changed  what  had  been,  in  her  exhaustion,  no  more 
active  an  emotion  than  a  sense  of  relief  from  weights,  into 
triumphant  rejoicing;  she  saw  her  great  dream  realized. 

"Yes,"  she  said.     "I  put  the  Thai  in  order,  I  kept  the 
mill  running,  I  brought  Esther  home,  I — yes,  I  think  I  may 
feel  satisfied." 
.  "And  are  you  as  happy  as  you  expected  to  be  ?" 

"Yes.  I  am  happy."  Her  manner  changed  again,  and 
as  quickly.  "Don't  you  think  that  soon  it  will  be  almost 
as  it  was  in  the  Thai  ?"  she  asked,  with  timid  eagerness. 

232 


THE    LARGEST    ITEM 

"I  think  that  it  will  soon  be  as  nearly  restored  as  it  ever 
can  be." 

For  a  moment  she  said  nothing,  and  he  knew  that  she  was 
contemplating  what  she  had  done,  and  did  not  disturb  her. 

"This  morning  your  father  hesitated  in  his  answer  to 
Esther,  and  he  acted  finally  by  your  advice.  What  do  you 
infer  from  that  ?"  she  then  inquired,  having  reached  an  un- 
satisfactory point  in  her  contemplation. 

"It  has  gone  very  hard  with  father.  He  never  distrusted 
his  own  will  before;  and  since  he  has  this  new  idea  of  adapt- 
ing his  will  to  what  he  cannot  master,  he  lives  gropingly 
from  day  to  day.  The  world  is  not  what  he  thought  it. 
Your  going  in  this  way  will  be  a  great  blow  to  him;  he 
thought  he  had  befriended  you.  Are  you  really  so  happy 
to  pay  him  off,  item  by  item,  what  he  never  thought  you 
owed,  and  then  to  leave  the  home  he  offered  you  without 
a  word  ?" 

The  effect  of  this  was  not  what  he  expected.  There  ap- 
peared upon  her  face  a  chill  and  dimmed  look  of  ebbing 
vitality,  and  her  voice  was  unsteady  as  she  answered:  "I 
had  to  leave.  I  had  promised." 

For  the  moment  what  she  was  now  to  live  through  dis- 
mayed her  less  than  what  she  had  lived  through.  Her 
dominance  in  the  Thai  had  been  thoroughly  satisfying  to 
her;  but  each  of  her  own  successes  made  her  less  necessary 
there,  and  the  resumption  of  their  proper  positions  by  Job 
and  Susanna,  which  she  had  eagerly  desired,  deposed  her 
entirely.  She  had  felt  herself  superfluous,  and  more  home- 
less than  when  she  first  lost  her  home;  that  was  what  the 
restoration  of  the  Thai  was  to  her  personally;  and  this  was 
one  of  the  times  when  she  seemed  to  experience  all  of  it 
at  once. 

233 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

Although  he  did  not  know  what  had  so  suddenly  weakened 
her,  he  was  quick  to  seize  the  opportunity  of  her  weakness; 
the  inconsecutiveness  of  her  conduct  added  force  to  his. 
"Bertha,"  he  said,  "if  you  were  held  by  a  promise  to  go, 
you  have  kept  it.  You  did  go;  and  you  are  worn  out,  poor 
girl!  Now  let  me  take  you  back.  You  know  what  I  want." 

"I  can't." 

"Why,  dear?" 

Exhausted  and  sensitive  as  her  brief  rejoicing  had  left 
her,  she  could  scarcely  speak  of  what  she  felt  to  be  her  ab- 
ject dowerlessness.  However,  he  made  her  speak  of  it  by 
silently  insisting  upon  an  answer. 

"I  have  nothing  at  all  to  bring  to  you.  I  am  not  wanted 
in  the  Thai.  If  I  did  what  you  ask,  it  would  be  considered 
a  calamity  for  you.  The  mere  sight  of  me  is  painful  to 
your  mother,  and  I  don't  wonder." 

"Nothing  to  bring  me  ?  What  more  in  God's  world 
could  a  man  ask  than  to  have  you  ?" 

"He  might  ask  for  a  better  woman,"  she  answered, 
desolately. 

"There  are  none.  I  know  how  you  must  feel  after  all 
that  has  happened;  but  won't  you  put  the  past  behind 
you,  and  answer  me  for  the  future  ?  All  that  I  have  for 
any  woman  I  gave  you  long  ago.  Is  it  nothing  to  you  ?" 

"Yes." 

His  next  speech  startled  her. 

"I  am  not  what  you  deserve,  and  I  have  no  right  to  ask 
the  question  that  I  am  going  to  ask:  Is  it  Antony  ?" 

She  welcomed  this  shift  of  subject,  for  every  minute 
during  which  she  had  in  her  own  hands  the  choice  of 
answers  to  his  proposal  was  sweet.  "Did  you  think  so 
because  of  what  I  did  about  the  fire  ?"  she  said. 

234 


THE    LARGEST    ITEM 

He  had  known  nothing  about  that;  and  she  told  him 
only  that  she  had  permitted  a  report  that  she  started  the 
fire  to  neutralize  the  same  report  about  Antony.  He  was 
then  almost  too  horrified  to  question,  and  she  had  to  make 
it  appear  of  little  importance.  "It  has  all  blown  over," 
she  said,  "and  it  was  a  foolish  thing  altogether,  and  might 
have  been  better  managed.  I  am  surprised  that  you  heard 
nothing  of  it.  I  used  to  wonder  why  you  did  not  tell  me 
that  you  did  not  believe  it." 

"Every  one  knew  better  than  to  approach  me  with  such 
a  story.  Now  I  want  to  know  why  you  did  this  for  Antony  ?" 

She  had  another  moment  of  exultation  as  she  saw  how 
perturbed  he  was.  Here  would  be  a  short,  intense  period 
in  which  she  would  dominate  again;  but  she  replied,  with 
a  direct,  unhurried,  and  modest  glance,  "I  did  it  for  your 
mother,  on  account  of  Antony." 

"You  countenanced  a  report  about  yourself  that  I  can- 
not bear  to  think  should  have  been  mentioned  with  your 
name!  Bertha,  there  can  have  been  but  one  reason." 

"There  was  but  one  reason." 

"And  it  lies  in  what  he  said  about  himself  and  you  in 
the  wheat-field?" 

"It  does  not." 

So  possessed  by  his  idea  that  he  did  not  attend  to  what 
she  said,  he  walked  to  the  other  end  of  the  room  and  back, 
while  her  eyes  followed  him.  "I  had  not  believed  it  until 
now,"  he  said.  "Bertha" — he  leaned  over  her  without 
touching  her,  and  she  felt  suddenly  afraid  of  him,  for  she 
had  not  known  that  he  could  look  like  that — "can  you  say 
that  there  was  no  truth  in  what  he  said  ?" 

"None.  There  never  could  have  been,"  she  replied; 
and  her  look  up  at  him  was  raylike. 

235 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

He  drew  a  long  breath.  "Then  you  will  come  back  with 
me,  won't  you  ?" 

"No." 

Now  he  prepared  himself  for  the  final  attack  with  a 
sort  of  ardent  patience  which  she  recognized  and  loved  as 
the  same  quality  that  had  made  him  deliberate  for  two  years, 
and  then,  in  one  afternoon,  refuse  another  hour  for  delibera- 
tion. The  truth-telling  with  which  he  began  she  loved  also. 

"  Bertha,  it  was  foolish  pride  which  caused  you  to  make 
that  promise  about  repayment,  and  it  is  foolish,  high-strung 
pride  which  deters  you  now — unless  you  honestly  do  not 
care  for  me.  If  you  do,  you  are  slighting  a  duty  to  your 
own  self.  You  owe  yourself  freedom  to  love.  If  you  don't 
consider  that,  give  me  a  thought.  I  want  the  happiness 
that  is  due  me  in  life  and  you  can  give  it  or  withhold  it. 
Won't  you  give  it  to  me  ?" 

He  waited  long  for  her  reply,  trying  to  read  in  her  face 
what  it  would  be,  though  he  could  scarcely  see  her  face  in 
the  dim  light.  As  she  sat  there  silently,  passion  fought  with 
passion  to  dictate  the  awaited  answer:  she  might  accept 
in  a  way  to  make  a  slave  of  him;  dominating  whom,  she 
knew  well  that  she  could  soon  resume  her  dominance  in  the 
Thai;  or  she  might  accept  simply  the  simple  proffer  of 
love;  his  arms  were  ready  to  open  for  her,  and  she  could 
rest  after  that.  What  she  did  do  came  from  a  need  in  her 
nature  that  lay  deeper  yet. 

"No!  No!  If  I  loved  you  it  would  be  a  misery  to  me. 
If  I  loved  you,  and  returned  to  the  Thai  unwanted  and  on 
sufferance,  I  could  never  be  square  with  myself  again,  or 
be  alone  with  myself,  or  trust  myself  in  any  other  matter. 
Pride!  I  would  rather  love  myself  than  have  you  love  me! 
Now,  for  God's  sake,  go!" 

236 


THE    LARGEST    ITEM 

Without  comment  he  waited  until  the  length  of  the  pause 
showed  that  her  vehemence  was  at  an  end.  Then  he  said, 
ceremoniously:  "Will  you  not  be  afraid  ?  Have  you  any- 
thing to  eat  ?  May  I  bring  you  anything  ?" 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  have  food.  I  shall  not  be  afraid," 
she  faltered,  trembling,  and  straining  her  eyes  to  see  him. 

"Will  you  come  to  say  good-bye  to  my  parents  before 
you  go  away  from  here  ?" 

"It  is  not  necessary.     My  going  is  what  they  need." 

"Shall  I  send  you  the  things  you  left  in  the  Thai?" 

"No,  thank  you.  All  I  want  to  keep  is  here."  Her 
denuded  isolation  could  not  have  been  made  plainer. 

"Good-night,  then." 

"Good-bye,"  she  answered,  rising. 

Both  stood  still  for  a  minute:  the  last,  as  she  knew;  she 
knew  that  he  would  never  ask  her  again.  Her  eyes  were 
still  strained  toward  him;  then,  as  long  as  his  steps  could 
be  heard  her  attitude  changed  only  to  become  more  and 
more  that  of  a  listener. 

Immediately  afterward,  with  no  interval  of  attention  to 
her  feelings,  she  went  hurrying  about  the  investigation  of 
the  premises  which  should  be  made  before  the  night  be- 
gan. There  were  only  two  little  rooms  in  the  house,  and 
the  one  in  which  she  was  could  be  covered  by  a  glance. 
The  glass-doored  cupboard  with  the  dishes,  the  stove 
which  looked  as  if  it  could  never  again  be  warm,  and  the 
lounge  which  had  formerly  been  her  bed,  were  all  lifelessly 
visible  in  the  greenish  twilight.  There,  too,  was  the  chair 
in  which  her  father  had  been  sitting  at  the  last.  Many 
memories  awaited  her  when  she  could  give  her  heart  to 
them.  The  other  room,  which  had  been  the  sitting-room 
with  a  cot  in  it  for  her  father,  had  shutters,  which  were 

237 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

closed;  so  she  struck  a  match  and  distinguished  beyond 
the  wavering  sphere  of  yellow  light  the  cot  and  the  chest 
of  drawers  and  the  little  shelf  of  books.  Here  she  decided 
to  sleep,  the  shutters  making  it  safer  than  the  back  room; 
and  she  opened  the  door  so  that  fresh  air  might  displace 
the  musty  air,  and  in  great  haste  got  out  blankets  and  pillows 
from  the  lowest  drawer  in  the  chest.  They  also  were  damp 
and  musty;  everything  that  she  touched  felt  disused. 

It  was  a  comfort  to  go  outside,  for  the  sky  was  a  sort  of 
companion.  A  good,  wide  sweep  of  it,  already  showing 
several  stars,  could  be  seen  at  the  back  of  the  house,  where 
there  had  been  a  garden  and  a  little  pasture.  In  front  the 
trees  extended  branches  over  the  roof.  The  clearing  was 
so  surrounded  by  woods  that  every  view  from  it  was  a  short 
forest-vista,  and  the  air  was  full  of  sylvan  odors,  stronger 
now  than  usual,  because  it  was  autumn.  The  path  to  the 
road  and  the  path  to  the  spring  were  nearly  obliterated  by 
weeds  and  leaves,  and  the  spring  was  choked  with  them; 
weeds  had  also  grown  between  the  door-stone  and  the  front 
door.  From  the  warped  and  weathered  door  to  the  space 
in  the  rear,  covered  with  rotting  chip-dirt,  where  the  re- 
mains of  the  wood-pile  stood,  the  place  had  the  same  for- 
lornness  as  an  old  log  or  a  dead  tree;  its  desolation  was 
that  of  the  forest,  and  not  human. 

Bertha  looked  at  it  all,  and  made  her  preparations  for 
the  night,  which  were  only  to  bring  a  pitcher  of  water  and 
lock  the  doors.  Then  she  took  what  she  needed  into  the 
front  room;  barricaded  the  inner  door,  which  had  no  lock, 
with  a  table  and  chair;  and  placed  over  her  candle  an  old 
basket  to  dim  the  light,  so  that  no  ray  through  a  crevice 
should  interest  a  passing  tramp.  Although  all  sorts  of  peo- 
ple went  up  and  down  the  mountain  road  both  by  day  and 

238 


THE    LARGEST    ITEM 

night,  her  tiny  path  was  hardly  ever  noticed,  and  she  did 
not  feel  particularly  afraid  of  anything  that  might  come 
over  it.  She  did  not  care  whether  she  were  safe  or  not  as 
she  sat  beside  the  table,  and  ate  her  supper  of  bread  and 
cheese,  and  looked  about  her  more  carefully  than  she  had 
yet  done.  Here  the  past  was  near;  she  had  time  now  to 
remember  and  to  feel;  if  the  cot,  the  chairs,  and  the  books 
had  only  possessed  memories,  she  thought,  she  would  not 
have  had  to  cherish  her  recollections  alone.  Her  weeping 
began  quietly,  but  soon  became  a  wild  outbreak,  in  which 
she  sobbed  names  to  herself,  and  that  they  were  all  blessed, 
and  did  not  forget  her,  and  would  come  back  to  help  her 
if  they  could.  The  thought  that  happy  Esther  on  her  wed- 
ding journey  had  been  in  this  very  place  made  her  feel 
more  lonely.  She  made  a  last  tour  of  her  fortifications, 
laid  herself  on  the  bed,  pressed  her  cheek  into  the  pillow, 
and  tried  to  stop  sobbing,  but  could  not. 

Now  that  it  was  dark  she  found  difficulty  at  first  in 
realizing  that  she  was  not  in  the  Thai  nor  in  the  little  room 
in  the  city,  but  back  in  her  father's  house.  The  darkness 
was  so  intense  that,  full  as  her  mind  and  heart  were,  it 
obtruded  itself;  it  seemed  heavy:  hearing  had  replaced 
sight  as  the  defensive  sense,  and  crackings  in  the  wall, 
rustlings,  and  the  noise  of  the  wind  were  all  significant. 
The  wide-sounding  wind  made  her  think  of  the  little  cleared 
space  outside  her  thin  shelter,  where  the  stars  could  be  seen, 
and  of  the  black,  thick  woods  covering  the  slanting  moun- 
tain for  miles  and  miles.  Who  might  be  going  over  the 
road  that  night,  she  wondered — peddlers  or  farmers,  or 
others  less  innocuous  ?  There  began  a  sound  of  gnawing 
under  the  floor.  Fragmentary  old  stories  recurred  to  her, 
localized  on  that  mountain,  some  far  away,  some  on  the 

239 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

near-by  road;  and  other  stories,  of  things  seen  or  heard  or 
felt  in  dark,  lonely  places. 

She  bravely  spoke  to  herself  aloud :  "That  gnawing  keeps 
me  awake.  To-morrow  I  shall  get  a  cat.  I  must  have 
something  alive  here." 

It  was  the  monotonous  gnawing,  indicating  the  presence 
of  something  alive,  which  finally  sent  her  to  sleep;  and 
when  she  awoke  the  cracks  in  the  shutters  showed  the 
morning. 

The  opening  of  the  door  seemed  to  let  in  the  vast,  fresh 
woods  themselves,  they  were  so  near;  and  she  learned  that 
the  weather  was  gray,  and  that  there  was  a  good  deal  of 
wind  among  the  branches,  and  that  the  crows  were  calling, 
instead  of  any  news  of  human  neighbors.  At  the  beginning 
of  the  day  it  was  pleasant  to  be  alone  in  that  high  solitude, 
free  of  all  connection  with  the  world.  Time  also  lay  be- 
fore her,  free  as  space;  she  could  be  a  pioneer  with  both, 
and  do  what  she  liked  with  them.  She  ate  her  solitary  and 
stale  breakfast  in  the  open  air,  and  soon  afterward  she  was 
on  her  way  to  lay  in  supplies  at  a  store  quite  far  off  on  the 
other  side  of  the  mountain. 

It  was  an  all-day  journey;  and  as  the  hours  passed,  and 
she  continued  to  walk  between  innumerable  trees,  and  to 
watch  through  breaks  in  the  foliage  the  distant  mountains 
rise  and  sink  as  she  was  farther  up  or  down  on  her  own  moun- 
tain, the  world  seemed  to  her  bigger  and  more  sharply 
colored  than  ever  before.  Those  smooth,  uninterrupted 
hours,  and  the  presence  of  wild  creatures  which  would  make 
no  demands  on  her,  were  soothing.  By  evening  she  was  at 
home  again,  with  a  basket  on  each  arm,  of  which  one  was 
full  of  provisions;  the  other  contained  sewing  materials  and 
the  desired  companion.  The  big  gray-and-white  cat  had 

240 


THE    LARGEST    ITEM 

been  donated  by  the  storekeeper,  and  so  mollified  by  at- 
tentions that  he  was  asleep  when  she  opened  the  basket; 
and  when  he  found  himself  in  a  new  place,  he  examined  it 
with  benignity  which  deepened  at  certain  points  in  the 
woodwork  to  professional  interest.  That  night  she  went 
to  sleep  more  readily  because  of  his  presence.  Once  she 
woke,  and  saw  his  eyes  and  heard  his  velvety  leapings,  and 
his  purr,  which  was  a  death-preceding  roar  to  the  other 
auditor. 

In  a  day  or  two,  with  her  two  little  rooms  thoroughly 
cleaned,  she  began  the  sewing  and  the  resting  which  were 
her  immediate  purpose.  She  had  decided  where  to  go  and 
how  to  look  for  work,  but  there  was  nothing  to  hurry  her 
except  the  need  of  money,  and  beside  her  tiny  expenditures 
even  her  small  total  was  large;  so  she  could  take  plenty  of 
time  to  make  the  clothes  needed  for  her  enterprise.  A  great 
deal  of  sewing  and  of  sleeping  could  be  gotten  into  the  long 
days  and  the  long  nights.  Every  morning,  when  the  house- 
work was  done,  she  sewed;  in  the  afternoon  she  was  again 
bending  over  her  stitching,  the  nape  of  her  neck  showing 
white  as  an  almond-kernel  under  her  coil  of  hair.  She 
also  reread  most  of  the  books  on  the  shelf,  and  spent  hours 
walking  in  the  woods  or  sitting  at  her  door;  and  the  time 
that  she  passed  in  these  ways  was  always  gone  before  she 
knew  it. 

She  had  companions.  The  cat  was  of  great  importance 
to  her,  especially  during  the  first  few  days,  when  her  loneli- 
ness was  parching;  and  the  squirrels  and  chipmunks  and 
rabbits  soon  began  to  show  themselves.  The  crows  were 
always  about,  so  bold  that  she  sometimes  walked  into  a 
group  of  them,  and  they  would  sail  up  before  her,  talking 
very  loud  and  making  black  notches  in  the  background  of 

241 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

foliage  with  their  spread  wings.  She  watched  the  altera- 
tions of  the  weather  and  of  the  light,  and  studied  the 
weather-signs  until  dark  and  bright  colors  in  the  sky  as- 
sumed the  new  importance  of  a  code.  The  silent  continuity 
of  these  changes  which  went  on  all  around  her  was  pacifying 
as  a  trusted  voice.  There  seemed  no  need  of  stress  upon 
any  mortal  concern  when  summer  changed  to  winter  with- 
out disruption.  There  were  also  times  when  she  perceived 
other  companionships:  at  some  hours  the  dead,  whose 
memories  were  so  near,  were  by  her,  she  was  sure;  she  felt 
the  thoughts  of  Jonathan  around  her  often. 

She  used  her  voice  so  seldom  that  it  became  strange  to 
her  to  speak  when  she  made  her  journey  to  the  store.  On 
other  days  she  met  no  one;  her  path  was  unnoticed  by 
travellers,  and  she  was  so  anxious  that  it  should  not  be 
noticed  that  she  avoided  it,  and  reached  the  road  by  going 
through  the  woods.  When  she  went  in  that  direction  it 
was  always  to  the  same  destination.  Some  distance  be- 
yond the  road  a  high  rock  projected  from  the  mountain  side, 
and  from  its  top  there  was  an  excellent  view  of  the  Thai. 
There  she  would  sit,  concealed  by  the  bushes  which  grew 
upon  it;  and  an  autumn  afternoon  would  pass  while  she 
looked  down,  taking  deep  into  her  memory  the  silver  line 
of  the  creek,  the  fields  and  roads,  and  the  home-like  aspect 
of  Job's  house. 

One  moonlight  night,  when  she  was  in  bed  and  falling 
asleep,  she  heard  for  the  first  time  some  one  coming  toward 
her  cabin.  Uncertain  steps  scuffled  through  the  leaves, 
which  were  a  protection  by  the  warning  noise  they  made, 
and  a  knocking  was  begun  on  the  door  that  opened  into 
the  room  in  which  she  lay.  Knowing  that  the  door  would 
be  easy  to  break,  she  stood  up  in  the  dark  and  was  ready. 

242 


THE    LARGEST    ITEM 

The  man  began  to  demand  to  be  let  in,  and  she  found  out 
by  listening  that  he  was  a  drunken  tramp  benighted  on  the 
mountain.  She  half  pitied  him.  It  was  some  time  before 
the  idea  occurred  to  him  that  the  house  might  be  empty, 
and  he  talked  to  himself  about  it,  and  tried  the  door,  and 
walked  around  to  the  rear;  after  which  he  stood  for  a  while, 
growling  and  sniffing,  and  finally  laid  himself  down  in  a 
drift  of  leaves  with  his  head  against  the  house  wall.  The 
boards  were  thin,  and  his  breathing  was  audible  to  her  in 
the  night.  She  stayed  where  she  was  until  after  that  time 
in  the  morning  when  she  heard  him  get  up  and  go  back 
to  the  road. 

During  the  next  few  days  she  thought  a  good  deal  about 
him,  and  with  sympathy,  comparing  his  vagabond  condi- 
tion with  what  hers  would  soon  be,  or  even  with  what  it 
was  now,  in  her  frail  forest  refuge.  She  was  thinking 
about  him  one  afternoon  as  she  sat  by  a  window  that  opened 
on  the  woods  and  repaired  the  gown  which  she  had  worn 
when  she  brought  Esther  back.  If  she  looked  out  she 
saw  old  leaves  torn  off  and  whirled  about  by  the  wind; 
the  black  gown  lying  over  her  lap,  at  which  she  continu- 
ally looked,  had  been  new  when  the  first  break  occurred 
in  her  family,  and  had  gone  with  her  since,  acquiring  a 
quality  of  participation  peculiar  to  stuffs.  This  was  one 
of  the  times  when  those  who  had  left  her  seemed  near; 
and  the  thought  of  them  connected  itself  with  thoughts 
of  the  tramp,  so  that  she  wondered  what  her  father  and 
mother  would  think  of  her  entering  upon  a  life  as  rootless 
and  casual  as  his.  Hitherto  she  had  been  sure  of  their  ap- 
proval, but  she  was  not  so  now;  and,  irrelevantly,  the 
pedantry  which  had  often  characterized  her  conversations 
with  Jonathan  occurred  to  her  and  then  became  clear, 

243 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

There  was  no  reassurance  to  be  got  by  watching  the  trees 
and  the  flitting  leaves. 

For  some  time  after  that  she  did  less  sewing  than  she 
had  done,  and  more  thinking;  and  one  night  she  became 
so  absorbed  in  her  thoughts  that  she  remained  until  very 
late,  seated  this  time  at  a  window  that  faced  the  clearing, 
where  she  could  see  the  moon.  In  the  deserted  space  be- 
fore her  the  signs  of  dilapidation  and  decay  received  dig- 
nity from  the  moonlight,  and  the  leaflessness  and  grayness 
of  the  almost  denuded  forest  appeared  an  achieved  beauty. 
That  light  made  of  the  world  beyond  the  windows  a  new 
place,  too  grave  and  beautiful  for  individual  insistences  and 
refusals.  Bertha,  the  rays  blanching  her  face  and  glitter- 
ing against  her  eyes,  experienced  the  pains  of  a  planet- 
begotten  tide  of  emotion. 

Before  she  could  rise  and  prepare  for  bed  she  had  to 
shake  off  a  lethargy;  and  her  senses  were  still  dull  when, 
as  she  combed  her  hair,  her  eye  was  caught  by  a  strange 
shining  in  the  soft  veil  which  reached  to  her  knees.  Start- 
ing, she  separated  the  one  hair  from  the  others,  looked  at 
it  and  looked  again,  brought  it  close  to  the  candle  to  look. 
There  was  no  mistaking  that  it  was  silver-white.  At  first 
her  heart  sank;  it  had  not  before  been  brought  home  to 
her  that  her  physical  perfection  would  have  the  common 
end;  then  she  welcomed  the  proof  that  she  would  not  last 
forever,  and  that,  in  a  short  time,  as  the  trees  would  count 
it,  her  wandering  would  be  over.  Soon,  therefore,  she  would 
care  no  more  for  Jonathan;  but  it  seemed  scarcely  sensible 
to  refuse  to  be  happy  for  such  a  little  while. 

Sleep  was  slow  in  coming,  and  brought,  instead  of  rest, 
a  dream.  In  it  she  was  Jonathan's  wife,  and  had  been 
unfaithful  to  him.  She  was  conscious  of  no  compensations 

244 


THE    LARGEST    ITEM 

to  herself,  and  the  expression  of  his  face  as  he  contem- 
plated her  was  not  more  miserable  than  she  herself  was. 
Remorse  and  shame  blasted  her,  because  what  she  owed 
him  was  now  not  his,  and  could  not  be  recovered. 

When  she  had  succeeded  in  waking,  the  impression  that 
she  had  defaulted  remained  and  was  like  lead  upon  her. 
Esther  had  implanted  in  her  mind  the  idea  of  a  due  to  her 
man,  but  she  had  successfully  neglected  it  hitherto;  now 
she  could  escape  it  no  more.  She  had  omitted,  in  her 
boastfully  paid  account,  an  item  which  nullified  the  pay- 
ment as  a  whole.  She  saw  that. 

Now  she  could  not  love  herself,  and  she  must  love  Jona- 
than. What  she  had  kept  within  bounds  obliterated  them 
after  that  vision  of  the  wronged  mate;  her  heart  and  her 
flesh  cried  out  for  him. 

"Oh,  does  this  mean  that  I  must  go  down  to  the  Thai 
and  offer  myself  to  him  ?"  she  said  to  herself,  in  agony. 

It  was  not  possible  to  bear  that  degree  of  emotion  for 
many  hours.  She  had  to  clear  herself  in  her  own  eyes, 
she  had  to  know  herself  to  be  acting  with  justice  and  com- 
mon sense.  Contact  with  the  sane,  happy  world  was  neces- 
sary, she  felt,  before  she  could  be  sure  what  were  justice 
and  common  sense  in  this  case.  She  had  been  there  too 
long  alone.  She  did  not  wait  for  day:  the  dawn  was  no 
more  than  a  pallor  in  the  east  when  she  was  afoot  toward 
her  rock,  from  which  she  could  at  least  look  out. 

Not  all  the  stars  were  gone;  the  Himmelberg  was  velvet- 
black,  there  was  not  a  light  in  the  Thai,  and  beyond  it  the 
open  country  faded  into  gray.  She  seated  herself  on  a 
patch  of  frosted  moss  on  the  top  of  the  rock,  and  sat  there 
while  the  wind  flapped  in  the  bushes.  The  birds  were 
beginning  to  wake. 

245 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

She  endeavored  not  to  feel  or  think,  but  to  see  where  lay 
justice  to  Jonathan  and  to  the  demands  of  life.  That  did 
not  take  her  long.  There  remained  the  fight  between  the 
clamping  will  backed  by  the  spoken  word,  and  the  ardor, 
power,  and  reasonableness  that  made  her  soul.  That  was 
a  mortal  struggle. 


XVII 

MORNING 

ALTHOUGH  the  western  sky  was  still  a  nocturnal 
2\  gray,  the  east  was  luminous  and  decked  with  rosy 
clouds.  The  air  was  beginning  to  lose  the  heavy  quality 
of  night.  First  the  mass  and  then  the  color  of  objects  in 
the  Thai  became  visible;  and  it  was  again  possible  to  see 
yellow  where  husked  corn  lay  in  the  corn-fields,  blue  in 
the  tightly  closed  gentians  among  the  frosted  grass,  and 
red  in  the  unattainable  last  apple  withering  in  the  tree- 
top.  Lights  were  burning  in  the  tenant  farm-houses,  and 
many  lights  in  Job's  house,  toward  which  a  lantern  moved 
among  the  fruit-trees;  a  light  also  appeared  in  the  mill- 
room.  Soon  after,  the  deep  quiet  which  the  sound  of  the 
creek  had  intensified  was  pervaded  by  the  noise  of  the 
mill. 

Bertha,  hastening  down  the  road  from  the  mountain, 
had  been  eager  for  the  darkness  to  lift  and  show  her  how 
the  Thai  had  prospered;  upon  that  eagerness  she  fixed  her 
mind,  so  that  she  might  not  think  of  what  she  was  about 
to  do.  She  looked  to  see  if  the  race  were  full,  and  was  glad 
when  she  heard  the  mill,  because  it  was  a  good  sign;  as 
was  also  the  comfortable  appearance  of  the  house,  and  the 
moving  lantern  which  had  illuminated  the  feeding  of  the 
new  horses  in  the  big  new  barn.  Beyond  the  buildings  ex- 
'7  247 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

tended  the  fields  which  had  been  fire-swept,  and  were  now 
well  fenced  and  ready  to  flourish  in  the  spring.  The  Thai 
was  restored;  she,  descending  from  her  retreat,  looked  as 
if  she  had  taken  upon  herself  its  ravaged  state.  Her  hair 
was  without  life;  there  were  gray  hollows  under  her  eyes; 
her  face  was  thin  to  sharpness,  and  extremely  pale. 

She  wanted  to  find  Jonathan  without  being  seen  by  any 
one  else,  for  it  seemed  as  if  the  interpolation  of  a  common- 
place meeting  would  cause  her  grasp  to  slip  quite  off  the 
purpose  which  grew  more  difficult  as  she  came  nearer  to 
the  life  and  opinions  of  other  people;  so  she  decided  to 
go  up  on  the  eastern  ridge,  from  which  she  could  watch 
who  went  in  and  out  of  the  house,  and  go  to  him  when 
he  came  out  alone.  Leaving  the  mountain  road,  she  went 
across  the  fields  and  took  the  path  along  the  tree-covered 
top  of  the  ridge,  with  the  still  dusky  Thai  on  her  right  hand, 
and  on  her  left  the  open  country  and  the  deepening  color 
of  the  sunrise.  Before  long  she  saw  Jonathan.  Apparently 
he  intended  to  spend  the  morning  in  tree-cutting,  as  he  had 
an  axe  in  his  hand;  and  he  took  the  path  ahead  of  her, 
and  walked  south  without  having  seen  her.  She  went  on 
behind  him,  setting  her  feet  simultaneously  with  his,  so 
that  he  did  not  hear  her  steps,  and  following  like  a 
shadow. 

After  a  few  minutes  he  felt  her  eyes  upon  him,  and 
turned.  As  he  did  so  she  shrank  back,  away  from  the  man 
before  whom  her  purpose  must  be  carried  out,  and  he  saw 
her  so,  among  the  gray-brown  tree-trunks.  He  stared,  not 
believing  that  he  really  saw  her;  his  first  feeling,  too  quick 
to  be  a  thought,  was  that  here  was  another  ordeal;  then 
he  walked  back  to  her  with  eagerness,  checked  himself  in 
the  utterance  of  her  now  unpermitted  name,  and  awaited 

248 


MORNING 

her  pleasure,  while  she  gazed  at  him  as  if  she  were  trying 
to  see  whether  he  would  be  good  to  her. 

"Have  you  been  ill  ?"  she  asked,  when  she  had  seen  his 
face. 

"I?  No.  I  thought  you  were  gone  from  this  part  of 
the  country.  The  letter  you  left  for  mother  made  us  all 
think  so.  Have  you  been  on  the  mountain  all  this  time  ?" 

She  nodded. 

"Come  into  the  house,  where  you  will  be  warm,  and 
have  something  to  eat." 

After  refusing,  she  said  nothing  further;  and  he  began 
to  give  the  information  for  which  he  thought  she  might 
have  come:  "Father  and  mother  are  well.  Esther  was 
here  for  several  weeks,  and  when  she  went  back  to  town 
father  went  with  her,  and  to-night  she  and  Saul  are  coming 
home  to  stay.  Saul  has  been  persuaded  to  it.  They  will  live 
here,  and  he  will  learn  to  run  the  mill.  Jesse  is  going  West 
next  week.  To-morrow  will  be  his  last  Sunday  at  home, 
and  the  whole  family  is  coming  to  take  leave  of  him  and  to 
welcome  Saul  and  Esther.  Great  preparations  are  under 
way  in  the  house." 

"Then  you  stay  here  as  head  man — where  you  wanted 
to  be  ?"  she  asked,  not  commenting  on  the  news  of  the 
others. 

At  the  question  coming  from  her,  who  had  made  his 
hardly  acquired  position  valueless  to  him,  a  smiling  light 
appeared  between  his  black  lashes.  "Yes,  I  stay,"  he 
answered.  "Do  come  into  the  house.  They  will  be  so 
glad  to  see  you,  and  I  can't  have  you  out  in  the  cold." 

"I  don't  want  to  go  in;  I  want  to  ask  you  something. 
Does  it  matter  to  you  now  that  I  answered  you  as  I  did  ?" 

At  first  he  could  not  believe  that  he  understood  her;  then 
249 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

he  said:  "Don't  let  it  hurt  you.  If  I  hoped  that  my  life 
could  be  passed  in  a  certain  way,  and  it  cannot — well,  I 
incurred  that." 

"Then  you  don't  care." 

"Don't  I?  After  seeing  what  I  want,  and  failing  to 
get  it,  do  you  think  that  I  can  be  satisfied  to  live  with  a 
commonplace  woman  ?  What  did  you  come  for  ?" 

She  tried  to  take  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  say 
what  she  had  to  say,  but  she  could  not  do  it  yet. 

"I  don't  know  whether  it  was  worse  to  wonder  how  you 
were  getting  on  in  your  hunt  for  work  among  strangers,  or 
to  see  that  you  are  getting  on  miserably.  Don't  look  like 
that!  I  am  not  going  to  torment  you  with  urging.  What 
did  you  come  for?" 

"I  came  to  finish  paying,"  she  murmured. 

It  seemed  impossible  to  say  more;  her  eyes  sank  miser- 
ably before  his,  and  she  turned  her  head  and  looked  across 
to  the  mountains  in  the  east,  many  miles  away.  Their 
irregular  line  was  intensely  blue  beneath  the  bright  sky, 
and  the  sun  was  beginning  to  appear;  but  the  space  and 
the  increasing  splendor  could  not  detain  her  while  she  felt 
him  waiting  for  her  to  say  more.  He  had  always  been  able 
to  make  her  speak  without  speaking  himself.  Since  with- 
out a  word  he  compelled  her  to  turn  back  toward  him,  and 
it  was  plain  that  he  would  not  spare  her  from  saying  all 
that  there  was  to  say,  it  seemed  better  to  shut  out  the 
doubt-producing  world  by  looking  straight  into  his  eyes, 
and  so  to  let  her  spirit  speak  undeterred  to  his. 

"You  said  I  was  overproud  and  foolish.  You  said  I 
owed  both  you  and  myself.  I  came  to  offer  you  what  you 
asked." 

It  was  said;  and  what  more  was  to  be  done  must  be 

250 


MORNING 

done  by  him.  With  a  sinking  feeling  of  relief  she  waited 
minutes  for  him  to  proceed,  and  finally  looked  up  at  him 
with  a  sort  of  exhausted  surprise.  As  she  did  so  she  heard 
his  breath  catch  in  his  throat. 

"What  led  you  to  do  this  ?"  he  asked. 

Intending  to  answer,  she  slowly  recalled  what  had  led 
her  to  do  it;  and  she  could  not  tell  him  the  truth — "A 
tramp  at  my  door;  a  gray  hair  on  my  head;  a  dream" — 
because  he  would  be  unable  to  believe  that  her  resolve, 
founded  on  such  a  basis,  was  firm,  however  well  she  knew 
that  it  was. 

"I  know  that  you  have  a  need  to  approve  of  yourself 
that  is  as  strong  as  the  need  to  eat,"  he  said.  "Did  you 
come  down  here  to  say  this  to  me  so  that  you  could  be 
sure  your  duty  was  done,  relying  on  my  having  ceased  to 
want  you  ?  If  so,  you  made  a  great  miscalculation.  How 
do  you  think  these  months  have  been  for  me,  with  the 
thought  in  my  head  that  some  other  man  will  get  you  ?" 

She  faltered,  "I  did  not  ask  myself  what  you  would 
say;  I  did  not  dare." 

"I  don't  imagine  that  it  was  easy  for  you.  I  don't  see 
what  brought  you  to  it.  You  told  me  that  if  you  agreed 
to  what  I  proposed,  you  could  never  be  alone  with  yourself. 
Then  you  were  alone  with  yourself;  and,  perhaps,  you 
began  to  think  that  you  could  not  stand  that  either,  unless 
you  settled  with  me.  Is  that  it  ?" 

"Yes." 

"  So  you  came  down  to  get  it  over  ?" 

Now  that  he  saw  it  all,  she  knew  that  his  answer  would 
come  next,  and  began  to  tremble.  "I  thought  you  would 
understand,"  she  said.  "You  have  always  wanted  other 
people  to  do  what  they  thought  was  right." 

251 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

He  laughed  slightly,  by  way  of  easing  the  tension  which 
he  was  unable  to  endure  while  complying  with  his  own 
demands  upon  himself.  "Well,  now  I  am  going  to  do 
what  I  think  is  right.  It  seems  to  be  a  luxury,  and  I  am 
going  to  indulge  in  it,"  he  said.  "You  may  feel  yourself 
square  with  the  world.  I  make  no  claims  on  you  at  all." 

It  was  she  who  compelled  him  by  a  look  to  proceed;  he 
did  so.  "You  are  the  only  thing  that  I  want;  but  do  you 
think  I  would  take  you  if  you  gave  yourself  to  me  in  pay- 
ment ?  I  would  not  touch  you." 

She  gazed  at  the  leaf-strewn  ground,  and  tried  to  see  as 
a  whole  the  irreparable  situation  in  which  she  was.  She 
felt  as  if  a  cold  flood  were  sweeping  over  her  when  she 
thought  of  that.  It  was  not  so  when  she  thought  of  him, 
for  she  saw  that  he  was  free  of  her;  she  could  never  master 
him. 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?"  she  asked. 

He  averted  his  eyes  to  the  horizon,  where  half  the  sun's 
disk  showed  above  the  mountains;  then  looked  again  at 
her,  for  whom  he  was  even  willing  to  go  through  the  re- 
capitulation of  his  lost  hopes.  "What  I  did  want  was  the 
kind  of  work  I  like,  and  a  home  to  keep,  and  you  in  it. 
But  I  wanted  you  to  want  to  be  there.  I  wouldn't  give 
you  less  than  my  best,  you  see;  and  if  I  knew  that  you 
didn't  care  for  that,  I  don't  know  how  long  I  could  keep  on 
giving  it,  even  if  you  were  with  me." 

The  sun  rose  higher,  fast  and  red;  the  clouds  were  fiery; 
the  great  sweep  of  country  to  the  east  looked  very  wide 
and  cold.  She  had  horrible  feelings  of  exile  and  of  loss. 

"I  wanted  to  do  right,"  she  said,  aloud,  but  to  herself. 

"You  wanted  to  owe  nobody,  didn't  you  ?"  he  answered, 
with  sympathy.  "But  you  can't  be  square;  no  one  is  ever 

252 


MORNING 

square.  You  cannot  fix  a  relation  with  any  human  being, 
it  must  be  elastic;  you  take  and  you  give  continually.  Do 
not  even  the  dead  make  claims  upon  us  ?  And  we  honor 
them." 

Staring  at  the  sun,  she  saw  what  was  necessary  to  make 
her  free  to  accept  what  life  offered  her,  which  would  be 
not  less  than  all  her  dreams,  but  more:  it  promised  to  pass 
even  her  power  to  enjoy,  it  was  so  complex  and  so  rich. 

She  walked  over  to  him. 

"Jonathan,"  she  said,  clearly,  "I  have  been  quite  wrong, 
and  I  love  you.  I  want  to  be  with  you.  Will  you  let  me 
belong  to  you  ?" 

He  looked  at  her  a  moment,  then  put  his  arms  around 
her,  and  kissed  her  lips  and  eyes.  "Will  I  let  you?"  he 
murmured.  "Good  God!"  He  continued  to  look  down 
at  her  white  face;  her  eyes  remained  closed. 


XVIII 

MORTAL   POWERS 

HIS  mother  had  often  put  a  stop  to  Jesse's  whittling  in 
the  kitchen,  and  on  Sunday  she  would  not  see  him 
whittle  anywhere,  but  now  she  sat  and  watched  him,  and 
expressed  no  objection.  Knowing  that  this  concession 
was  made  because  he  was  going  away  so  soon,  he  had  met 
it  by  spreading  papers  on  one  end  of  the  wood-chest,  and 
taking  care  that  every  chip  and  splinter  should  fall  on 
them.  The  initials  and  date  which  he  had  carved  when 
he  was  a  little  boy  were  on  the  uncovered  end  of  the  chest, 
where  he  could  see  them.  Between  that  early  effort  of 
deliberate  art  and  the  fan,  with  lace-like  carving  of  almost 
Oriental  elaborateness,  to  which  he  was  putting  last  touches, 
there  were  many  years.  He  looked  from  one  to  the  other, 
and  thought  of  that;  remembered  how  elated  he  had  been 
on  the  Sunday  when  he  was  left  at  home  alone  for  the  first 
time;  and  reflected  that  he  had  not  again  felt  so  free  until 
now. 

This  was  an  important  morning:  much  was  to  happen 
when  the  family  came  back  from  church;  and  the  room 
was  at  its  very  best  in  a  state  of  expectant  preparation. 
Whichever  way  his  eye  turned,  it  met  shining  surfaces,  of 
furniture  and  window-glass,  and  the  leaves  of  the  blooming 
begonias  on  the  sills  had  been  attentively  washed;  the  clock 

254 


MORTAL    POWERS 

also  showed  cherishing  once  more.  Behind  the  panes  in 
the  dresser  the  shelves  were  almost  empty  except  for  the 
Heilig  mug,  as  the  best  gold-banded  china  was  all  in  place 
on  the  table.  The  stove  was  covered  with  kettles  from 
which  came  bubbling  sounds.  The  difficult  occasion, 
thought  Jesse,  would  have  all  possible  material  helps. 

His  glance  from  one  to  another  sign  of  prosperity  en- 
countered an  anti-climax  when  it  rested  on  his  mother,  and 
he  knew  that  he  would  see  a  second  if  he  could  see  his  own 
face.  She  was  neither  sallow  nor  thin;  but  her  expression 
of  cheerful  absolutism  was  gone,  and  she  looked  like  a 
woman  who  would  never  again  have  the  energy  to  har- 
monize with  her  surroundings.  Now  her  large  gold  ear- 
hoops  were  incongruous  with  her  face.  As  for  himself,  he 
knew  the  details  of  sick  hair,  hollow  features,  and  stooping 
shoulders  well  enough,  having  avoided  them  in  his  mirror 
for  many  a  morning. 

He  was  very  anxious  to  find  out  before  he  went  away 
how  she  really  felt  about  all  that  had  happened,  so  that  he 
might  know  whether  to  think  of  her  as  less  or  more  sorrow- 
ful; but  he  was  afraid  of  distressing  if  he  questioned  her. 
Nothing  at  all  was  said  between  them  until  he  opened  the 
completed  fan  and  placed  it  in  an  ornamental  position  on 
the  mantel-shelf.  Then  she  made  a  pleased  comment,  and 
a  little  later  remarked: 

"I  think  there  will  be  rain  soon.  I  am  afraid  it  will 
spoil  Kenny's  dress.  She  has  a  handsome  blue  silk  this 
fall,  but  the  color  looks  to  me  as  if  water  would  spot  it." 

The  fact  that  she  was  sufficiently  at  peace  to  think  of 
that  encouraged  him  to  say,  "Will  you  be  glad,  mother,  to 
have  them  all  here  once  more  ?" 

"  It  is  long  since  they  were  here,"  she  answered,  seeming 

255 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

pleased  to  talk.  "I  shall  be  glad  to  have  the  family  as  it 
was;  so  will  your  father.  Esther  and  Saul  here,  too,  to 
stay!  If  only  you  would  not  go  West!" 

He  did  not  realize  how  much  his  going  mattered  to  her; 
it  did  not  seem  to  him  important  enough  to  speak  of  among 
the  capital  events.  "Then  you  are  satisfied?"  he  said. 

"Yes,  I  am  satisfied.  The  main  thing  is  that  your  father 
shall  be  contented,  and  happy  if  possible;  and  next  to  that, 
to  go  from  day  to  day  peacefully."  The  lassitude  of  her 
pose  increased.  "It  is  far  better  with  us  now  than  we 
could  have  hoped  to  have  it.  However,  no  situation  is 
hopeless  so  long  as  there  remains  something  that  we  can 
do.  Even  about  Antony  it  is  not  quite  hopeless.  You 
and  I,  Jesse,  think  of  him  as  others  do  not;  and  he  needs 
us  to  think  of  him." 

Without  returning  any  answer,  Jesse  made  his  way,  with 
his  stiff,  semi-invalid  walk,  to  the  door,  and  stood  looking 
out.  The  air  was  soft  and  pleasant  to  his  face,  and  so  still 
that  not  a  half-dead  leaf  was  hurried  from  its  bough.  Now 
and  then  the  sun  appeared  in  the  form  of  a  misty  yellow 
patch,  burnishing  the  edges  of  the  surrounding  gray,  which 
was  thickest  in  the  east,  where  the  rain  was  gathering.  The 
creek  was  already  full,  and  made  more  noise  than  usual. 
Jesse  listened  and  looked. 

Before  long  a  new  phaeton  drawn  by  a  fine  gray  horse 
approached  at  a  racing  gait  and  stopped;  then  Henrietta 
came  up  the  walk  with  her  blue  skirts  waving;  and  as  he 
smiled  down  at  her  and  drew  aside  to  let  her  in,  she  detained 
him  with  her  hand  on  his  shoulder,  saying:  "My  dear  boy! 
Susanna,  this  is  a  great  day.  Esther  and  Saul  at  home 
again,  and  Jesse  come  back  to  life!" 

"It  is  even  more  of  a  day  than  you  think,"  said  Susanna; 

256 


MORTAL    POWERS 

and  Jesse  was  sure  that  she  was  anxious  to  get  the  an- 
nouncement over.  "I  have  a  new  daughter.  Bertha  came 
back  yesterday;  you  must  have  seen  her  at  church;  and 
this  week  she  and  Jonathan  will  be  married." 

He  was  also  sure  that  the  necessary  narration  was  irk- 
some to  her,  so  he  took  it  upon  himself. 

"Yesterday  morning  very  early,  as  I  was  coming  back 
from  the  barn,  where  I  had  left  father,"  he  said,  "I  saw 
Jonathan  taking  mother  in  that  direction;  and  there  was 
an  air  of  serious  business  about  them  both.  I  wondered 
what  had  happened,  and  when  I  came  into  the  house  I 
learned  immediately,  for  any  one  might  have  known  Jona- 
than's wishes  about  Bertha;  and  there  she  was,  sitting  in 
the  kitchen,  white  as  flour,  and  Esther  offering  everything 
she  could  think  of  for  people  who  feel  faint,  but  nothing 
that  Bertha  would  accept.  I  was  not  wanted  there,  so  I 
went  out  to  the  barn  again,  where  I  found  a  serious  council. 
Jonathan  was  in  such  a  hurry  to  say  what  he  had  to  say 
that  he  had  escorted  mother  from  the  house  to  father  in  the 
cow-stable,  and  he  was  explaining  himself  while  two  rows 
of  cows  looked  and  listened.  It  was  the  most  interesting 
thing  they  had  seen  since  the  fire." 

Henrietta  demanded  by  a  look  a  more  serious  account 
from  her  sister,  and  Susanna  said :  "  The  girl  had  been  all 
this  time  at  her  father's  little  house  on  the  mountain;  and 
yesterday  morning  she  came  down,  and  Jonathan  met  her 
and  settled  it  with  her,  having  had  it  in  his  mind  for  many 
months.  It  went  with  a  rush  at  the  end,  just  as  it  did  when 
he  left  the  ministry." 

"He  was  going  to  marry  her;  there  were  no  two  ways 
about  that,"  Jesse  went  on.  "Unmarried  to  him  she  could 
not  stay  here,  and  he  would  not  let  her  go  away  by  herself, 

257 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

and  back  to  the  mountain  she  should  not  go  at  all.  There- 
fore, father  and  mother  must  consent  at  once,  or  he  would 
be  off  with  her.  He  put  it  gently,  but  that  was  the  gist  of 
his  statement.  That  he  had  nothing  to  keep  her  on  did 
not  seem  to  worry  him.  I  must  say,  however,  that  he  was 
most  earnest  in  asking  their  consent;  and  then  he  left  them 
to  talk  it  over,  and  I  came  back  to  the  house  with  him." 

"Had  you  nothing  to  say,  one  way  or  the  other?"  in- 
quired Henrietta,  appreciating  what  influence  the  newly 
recovered  son  would  have  just  before  he  went  away. 

"Some  little;  I  advocated  consent.  There  are  not  so 
many  Heiligs  as  there  were,"  said  Jesse.  "Well,  I  came 
back  with  him,  and  he  and  Esther  took  care  of  Bertha. 
It  was  certainly  very  hard  on  her,  that  waiting.  What 
Esther's  recommendation  would  be,  if  she  were  asked  for 
it,  was  easy  to  see;  and  as  to  him — I  don't  know  how  her 
interest  in  him  will  hold  out  through  life:  there  will  never 
be  anything  uncertain  about  his  feelings.  A  good  half- 
hour  passed  before  father  and  mother  came  in,  but  when 
they  did  appear  he  nodded  to  Jonathan,  and  went  to  Bertha 
and  made  her  welcome." 

The  look  which  Henrietta  now  directed  to  Susanna  was 
so  full  of  angry  sympathy  that  she  was  quick  to  answer: 
"No,  I  did  not  oppose  it  long.  Although  Job  was  in  favor 
of  it,  and  has  always  thought  well  of  her,  he  told  me  that 
he  would  not  consent  unless  I  did.  At  the  same  time  he 
urged  that  it  would  be  so  much  better  if  I  did  consent;  and 
I  saw  that  if  Jonathan  left  us,  it  would  be  my  doing;  so — " 

"Then  you  can  receive  her  as  a  daughter?" 

"  Oh  yes  !  I  can  learn  to  do  that.  Job  has  offered 
them  the  north  farm  for  their  home." 

Henrietta  wanted  to  say  something  cheerful,  but  could 
258 


MORTAL    POWERS 

find  nothing  in  the  situation  upon  which  cheerful  comment 
seemed  possible.  The  best  she  could  do  was:  "Jonathan 
on  the  north  farm,  and  Saul  and  Esther  with  you  here. 
There  remains  the  south  farm  when  this  boy  comes  back 
with  a  Western  wife." 

Jesse  received  this  smilingly,  not  expending  a  word. 

"Go  with  me  into  the  parlor,"  she  said  to  him.  "I 
should  like  a  little  good-bye  talk  with  you — if  you  think 
you  can  talk  to  me  this  time  without  fainting,"  she  added, 
to  him  alone.  In  the  parlor,  however,  her  persistent  blithe- 
ness  vanished;  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she  said,  "Oh, 
Jesse!" 

"Don't  take  it  so  to  heart,  Aunt  Henny.  By  ac- 
cepting it  mother  does  the  best  for  every  one,  herself  in- 
cluded." 

"I  know;  but — her  son  to  marry  the  girl  who  set  the 
barn  and  wheat  on  fire!" 

"Bertha  never  did  that." 

"Your  mother  thought  she  did." 

"She  does  not  think  so  now;  I  have  heard  her  say  so; 
and  it  would  be  a  kindness  if  you  would  let  no  one  say 
that  Bertha  did  it." 

"That  is  indeed  the  only  thing  to  do,  as  matters  have 
turned  out.  But  your  mother!  It  goes  to  my  heart  to 
look  at  your  mother,  Jesse." 

"I  know.  Now  there  is  something  timid  about  her  and 
about  father.  I  believe  Aunt  Cassandra  is  here." 

Elias  and  Cassandra  came  in.  The  kindly  man  was 
happy  without  reservation  to  be  there  once  more;  but  she 
looked  and  moved  anxiously.  As  her  eye  caught  Henrietta's 
each  one  knew  that  they  were  both  thinking  of  the  last 
time  they  had  met  Bertha  in  that  room.  Seeing  that  they 

259 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

wanted  to  speak  to  each  other,  Jesse  engaged  his  uncle  in 
conversation,  but  he  heard  the  purposeful  whispers. 

"Susanna  has  been  telling  us  about  it.  What  will  you 
do,  Henny?" 

"Treat  her  cordially,  like  any  other  girl  coming  into  the 
family." 

"Right.     That  is  what  we  ought  to  do." 

Heman,  who  had  been  talking  to  Susanna,  joined  them, 
and  they  seated  themselves,  and  Jesse  placed  himself  in  a 
corner  where  he  would  see  everything  that  happened.  There 
was  some  discussion  about  why  the  others  were  so  late, 
but  it  interested  no  one;  they  were  all  listening.  When 
voices  and  steps  were  heard  in  the  hall,  and  Job,  Philip, 
Saul,  and  Esther  entered,  the  others  rose,  and  it  seemed  to 
Jesse  that  he  was  watching  the  family  relations  readjust 
themselves  visibly.  Both  Elias  and  Heman  went  toward 
Job  as  quickly  as  he  toward  them;  and  he  shook  hands  also 
with  Philip,  although  they  had  come  together.  Then  he 
stepped  back  in  a  way  which  presented  Esther  and  Saul  to 
the  older  people,  and  the  Heilig  men  shook  hands  with  their 
sister's  son  while  the  women  saluted  Esther.  It  was  very 
quiet;  few  words  were  said. 

Jesse  watched  the  formation  of  groups  and  the  beginning 
of  conversations  without  entering  any,  keeping  himself  free 
to  get  the  full  value  of  all  betrayals  of  feeling  or  opinion 
that  might  be  made.  The  fact  that  Heman  thought  more 
of  Saul  since  he  had  asserted  himself  became  clear  to  him 
first;  then,  as  he  contemplated  the  scene  of  amity,  he 
thought  that  the  stranger  would  find  the  Heiligs  presenting 
to  him  a  harmonious  front.  As  he  was  wondering  how  far 
it  would  be  really  friendly,  the  lowest  of  the  voices  attracted 
his  attention. 

260 


MORTAL    POWERS 

It  was  the  voice  of  Philip,  who  was  standing  very  near 
him  and  speaking  to  Job: 

"There  is  something  which  I  ought  to  say  to  you." 

Job  waited  attentively.  Jesse  was  not  more  interested 
in  hearing  his  uncle  than  in  seeing  how  docile  his  father 
would  be. 

"You  remember  in  what  circumstances  they  went  away 
from  here  the  last  time,"  said  Philip,  excluding  himself 
from  the  insulted  party.  "  Do  you  think  you  ought  to  take 
back  what  you  said  ?" 

"I  thought  of  that,"  said  Job,  without  a  frown,  "but 
they  know  that  I  am  earnestly  glad  to  have  them  again. 
They  know  that,"  he  repeated,  "and  the  breach  will  close 
more  quickly  if  it  is  ignored.  If  you  think  they  are  en- 
tided  to  an  apology,  however — " 

"You  made,  on  that  occasion,  a  statement  of  your  re- 
ligious position;  and  you  are  an  elder,"  Philip  continued. 
"  Don't  you  think  you  should  say  something  different  now  ?" 

"That  I  thought  of,  too,"  Job  answered,  steadily,  "and  I 
have  decided  against  it.  Although  I  believe  that  I  shall 
never  clearly  know  how  to  live,  I  have  taken  my  life  upon 
myself  again;  and  that  they  see,  and  I  have  nothing  to  tell 
them.  Perhaps  no  one  of  us  knows  how  to  live;  perhaps 
our  minds  will  not  hold  it.  This  is  not  satisfactory  to  you 
as  minister.  If  you  say  so,  I  will  no  longer  be  an  elder." 

"  By  no  means.  You  do  right  in  this  if  you  satisfy  your- 
self, and  we  cannot  afford  to  lose  you." 

Jesse  thought  this  over  until  he  was  recalled  to  his  sur- 
roundings by  the  signs  of  unrest  about  him :  the  guests  were 
expecting  the  arrival  of  Jonathan  and  Bertha,  and  con- 
versation went  on  by  spurts,  and  eyes  sought  the  door.  He 
commended  Jonathan  for  keeping  her  away  for  a  while, 

261 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

although  he  too  was  impatient  for  the  same  thing,  which 
was  the  climax  of  the  day  to  him.  What  he  wanted  was  to 
see  how  she  would  behave,  as  he  perceived  that  the  future 
history  of  the  Thai  depended  on  that  point.  For  herself 
he  felt  repulsion,  for  he  could  not  get  out  of  his  mind  how 
straight  she  had  walked,  through  spiritual  compromises 
and  material  calamities,  to  the  attainment  of  her  desire; 
and  when  he  thought  of  her  exulting,  as  it  was  only  human 
that  to-day  she  should  exult,  he  would  have  been  glad  never 
to  see  her  face  again. 

They  were  heard;  from  the  tone  of  Jonathan's  voice  in 
the  hall  Jesse  knew  that  he  was  reassuring  her.  Then  the 
door  opened,  and  although  he  was  behind  her  she  faced 
the  family  for  a  second  alone.  To  Jesse  she  looked  smaller 
than  usual,  and  she  was  very  pale. 

Job  went  to  her  immediately,  and  presented  her  as  his 
new  daughter.  Jesse  saw  that  Jonathan  was  on  the  watch 
for  slights  which  he  would  remember  and  resent,  but  there 
were  none  to  be  seen;  all  the  greetings  were  kind,  and  it 
was  barely  perceptible  in  Henrietta  that  she  was  discharg- 
ing a  duty,  while  Bertha's  reply  to  her  was  a  little  easier 
than  to  the  others.  During  the  whole  ceremony  she  did 
not  look  at  Jonathan  once,  but  she  kept  referring  to  Job 
with  her  eyes,  as  if  she  were  trying  to  see  whether  her  be- 
havior satisfied  him.  Jesse  asked  himself  by  what  new 
standards  she  was  gauging:  he  saw  that  they  were  new; 
but  he  could  not  tell  whether  virtue  had  gone  out  of  her 
or  come  in. 

With  present  friendliness  facilitated  by  her  temperate 
conduct  in  the  past,  Cassandra  immediately  took  Bertha 
under  her  wing,  and  Philip  exerted  himself  to  make  the 
difficult  occasion  easier.  Jesse  saw  and  assisted;  and  be- 

262 


MORTAL    POWERS 

tween  them  the  dinner  ended  with  each  of  the  company 
feeling  a  little  nearer  to  the  others  than  before.  It  was 
Philip's  diplomacy  which  brought  all  the  older  people  into 
the  parlor  afterward,  and  left  the  kitchen  and  the  work  to 
Esther  and  Bertha  with  their  helpers. 

Having  taken  himself  off  for  an  hour  or  two,  Jesse  had, 
on  reappearing,  an  opportunity  to  see  how  it  would  be  at 
home  when  he  was  gone.  The  voices  in  the  kitchen  were 
silent  when  his  hand  sounded  on  the  latch;  and  he  found 
the  four  seated  in  a  close  group,  and  could  easily  imagine 
the  mutual  interest  of  the  pair  who  had  lately  taken  the 
great  step  and  the  pair  who  were  about  to  take  it.  In  the 
parlor  he  found  the  men  gathered  around  the  stove  and  the 
women  around  the  table,  and  here  also  the  talk  was  close- 
knit.  They  all  made  room  for  him,  but  they  had  to  make 
room  for  him,  for  he  was  not  an  integral  part  of  anything, 
and  he  was  glad  when  the  younger  people  came  into  the 
parlor,  so  that  he  was  no  longer  so  conspicuously  the  odd 
one.  He  continued  to  look  for  indications  of  future  good 
or  ill  will,  and  saw  them:  Cassandra  and  Henrietta  seemed 
to  have  much  more  in  common  than  usual;  Job  made  an 
appointment  with  Heman  for  a  day  after  Jesse's  departure 
to  inspect  some  noteworthy  stock;  and  Jonathan  and  Saul 
had  a  long  talk  with  Philip,  standing  up  close  together,  with 
the  points  of  resemblance  showing  clearly  in  their  faces. 
A  manifestation  of  cordiality  between  his  mother  and 
Bertha  was  what  he  wanted;  but  their  manner  to  each 
other  was  plainly  painstaking,  and  he  said  to  himself  that 
they  would  never  enjoy  being  alone  together. 

As  the  afternoon  wore  on,  however,  the  conversation  of 
the  women  turned  on  signs  and  dreams.  Henrietta,  who 
had  been  saying  little,  and  that  little  in  a  soft,  thought- 
18  263 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

ful  voice,  now  began  to  speak  in  her  usual   alert  man- 
ner. 

"If  you  begin  to  believe,  you  don't  know  where  to  stop. 
We  cannot  say  'This  dream  was  sent  to  me,  it  was  proved 
by  what  happened,  but  that  one  was  only  a  dream.'  If 
one  dream  means  something,  they  all  do;  so  I  believe 
none." 

"Henny  was  always  courageous  in  her  ideas,  and  thought 
for  herself,"  Susanna  said  to  Cassandra,  "but  I  stick  to 
the  old  beliefs  because  I  cannot  be  sure  that  I  can  think 
better  than  my  mother  did;  and  if  she  dreamed  of  muddy 
water,  she  always  expected  trouble,  and  it  nearly  always 
came." 

"I  remember  well  how  worried  she  would  be  in  the 
morning  until  she  had  found  out  what  trouble  was  foretold," 
said  Henrietta,  "and  I  think  that  if  it  had  not  been  for  the 
dream  she  would  many  times  not  have  recognized  it  for 
trouble  at  all." 

"To  me  there  is  something  solemn  about  all  dreams," 
answered  Cassandra.  "They  come  to  us,  we  cannot  tell 
from  where;  and  I  sometimes  think  that  each  one  is  a 
foreshadowing  of  what  is  to  be,  if  we  could  recognize  it." 

"What  I  am  most  afraid  of  is  parsley  planted  in  the 
house."  Susanna  continued  with  the  concrete.  "I  have 
seen  four  cases  where  the  women  thought  they  would  raise 
a  little  parsley  in  a  box  in  the  kitchen  window,  to  have  it 
handy  for  flavoring,  and  every  time  a  child  died." 

"Many  a  child  has  died  when  there  was  no  parsley  in  the 
kitchen  window,"  Henny  said;  and  Cassandra  was  about 
to  reply,  but  Bertha  spoke  up. 

"My  mother  would  never  have  parsley  growing  in  her 
house  on  account  of  us  children." 

264 


MORTAL    POWERS 

Cassandra  and  Henrietta  would  have  looked  at  each 
other  if  they  had  not  been  unwilling  to  be  seen  doing  it; 
they  did  not  know  whether  or  not  Bertha  intended  to 
take  sides,  and  they  were  anxious  that  she  should  say 
more. 

"My  mother  also  believed  in  signs;  she  had  reason  to 
do  so.  There  was  a  sign  in  her  family  which  had  not  failed 
for  four  generations,  and  they  did  not  know  how  much 
further  back  it  went.  It  was  always  known  in  that  family 
when  one  of  them  was  to  die,  for  within  twenty-four  hours 
of  the  death-hour  there  would  float  in  through  a  window 
of  the  house  a  little  white  cloud.  Even  if  they  died  far  away 
from  home  this  happened.  My  mother's  brother  died  out 
West,  and  his  wife  wrote  to  us  that  she  saw  the  cloud." 

Henrietta  did  not  criticise  and  Cassandra  did  not  con- 
firm, for  both  wished  that  nothing  should  be  said  until 
Susanna  should  have  time  to  appreciate  this  point  of  agree- 
ment with  Bertha.  The  pause  prolonged  itself,  while  she 
sat  with  bent  head;  her  own  sign  of  the  singing  angels  was 
in  her  thoughts.  When  she  did  look  up  she  turned  her 
eyes  and  met  Bertha's,  and  Jesse  and  the  watching  women 
saw  a  hopeful  look  pass.  He  built  a  hope  upon  it. 

By  him  the  afternoon  had  been  spent  in  making  the  most 
of  such  small  things,  with  scarcely  less  detachment  than 
if  he  were  already  away  from  them  all.  It  was  now  almost 
over,  and  he  knew  that  the  time  was  near  when  he  must 
quit  his  easy  spectator's  position  and  be  the  centre  of  the 
good-byes.  He  was  tempted  to  leave  the  house  until  every 
one  had  gone,  but  he  did  not;  and  although  it  occurred  to 
him,  while  he  was  wishing  that  the  next  few  days  were 
past,  that  he  would  avoid  many  emotions  if  he  slipped 
away  that  night,  he  banished  that  idea,  too. 

265 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

Philip  said,  "It  is  time  for  us  to  start  for  home,  but  be- 
fore we  do  so,  play  us  something,  Esther." 

The  hymn  which  Esther  played  had  been  sung  in  church 
that  morning,  and  presently  Philip,  who  was  sitting  with  his 
eyes  on  the  ground,  began,  without  raising  them,  to  sing. 
Then  Bertha,  standing  beside  Esther,  added  her  voice; 
Esther,  Saul,  and  Jonathan  joined,  one  after  the  other;  and 
several  of  them  looked  over  to  Jesse,  who  was  a  member 
of  the  church  choir,  and  invited  him  by  gesture  to  come  too, 
but  he  shook  his  head  and  listened,  smiling.  Enjoying  it 
more  as  they  did  more  of  it,  they  sang  three  times,  and 
Esther  was  careful  to  select  only  songs  of  rejoicing.  Dif- 
ferent responses  to  the  music  were  expressed  by  all  the 
older  faces  in  the  room. 

When  they  stopped  it  was  fairly  twilight,  and  a  few 
minutes  afterward  the  carriages  of  the  visitors  and  a  riding- 
horse  for  Philip  were  in  the  road,  and  the  whole  family 
was  collected  at  the  gate.  The  farewells  to  Saul  and  Bertha 
were  particularly  kind.  Then  the  drawing  back  of  the 
other  young  people,  who  felt  that  they  were  not  now  of  chief 
interest,  put  Jesse  into  the  centre  of  the  group,  and  he  col- 
lected himself  to  go  through  the  leave-taking  gracefully. 
He  replied  respectfully  to  Elias,  who  showed  some  feeling, 
and  arranged  the  carriage-blanket  for  Cassandra;  there 
was  a  general  utterance  of  "Good-bye,"  and  the  old  white 
horse  started  down  the  road.  He  thanked  Heman  again 
for  letters  of  introduction,  swung  Henrietta  into  her  phae- 
ton, and  kissed  her  back  when  she  leaned  over  the  wheel 
to  kiss  him;  before  the  second  good-byes  had  ceased  the 
gray  horse  had  paced  around  the  white.  He  stood  up  to  the 
look  with  which  Philip  took  leave  of  him,  and  returned  the 
strong  hand-shake,  and  his  eyes  followed  for  a  minute  the 

266 


MORTAL    POWERS 

man  who  had  gone  through  life  without  forming  close 
ties. 

Now  that  the  separation  had  commenced,  he  was  in- 
creasingly anxious  to  know  how  it  would  go  in  the  Thai; 
his  observation  became  more  acute;  he  was  ready  to  eaves- 
drop if  by  so  doing  he  could  make  sure  that  he  would  leave 
them  happy  or  with  a  fair  chance  of  happiness.  His  eye 
ran  over  the  group,  composed  of  all  their  children  around 
Job  and  Susanna,  in  which  he  stood. 

His  father  spoke  to  his  mother:  "How  soon  are  you  going 
to  have  supper  ?" 

"It  will  be  ready  in  about  half  an  hour,  if  that  suits 
you  r' 

"Very  well.     I  shall  hurry  at  the  barn." 

Such  words  and  such  consultation  of  convenience  had 
passed  between  them  for  thirty  years,  thought  Jesse,  as  he 
watched  his  mother  going  into  the  house. 

Jonathan  went  to  speak  to  his  father,  and  as  they  stood 
together  and  discussed  a  certain  piece  of  farm-work,  Jesse 
watched  with  concentration  the  owner  and  the  new  head 
man;  feeling  the  change  of  balance  in  the  Thai  since  he 
had  had  the  mill  which  Saul  had  come  to  take,  and  Saul 
and  Jonathan  were  there  on  sufferance.  Now  he  was  not 
entitled  to  join  in  plans  for  the  good  of  the  land,  and  he 
remained  on  the  outskirts  of  the  conversation  until  Job 
went  away  to  the  barn. 

Although  he  then  found  himself  between  the  two  couples, 
one  on  each  side  of  the  gate,  he  did  not  go,  as  he  would 
have  done  at  any  other  time,  but  stood  looking  at  the  sun, 
which  had  emerged  from  the  clouds  in  time  to  set.  Esther 
was  the  first  to  move,  and  Saul  tried  to  detain  her,  and  then 
asked,  in  half-audible  monosyllables,  why  she  went.  With 

267 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

the  same  intimate  half-expression  she  answered  that  she 
was  going  to  help  her  mother,  and  then  she  replied  to  some- 
thing visible  to  her  in  his  face: 

"I  know  it  is  not  as  it  was,  but  think  of  what  we  made 
them  feel." 

"Every  one  would  say  that  we  are  better  off  here." 

"We  know  that  we  are  not  here  for  that,  but  to  do  all 
we  can  for  them  as  they  grow  older." 

"  Do  you  remember  our  Sundays  in  the  two  little  rooms  ? 
You  and  I  alone." 

"Come  in  as  soon  as  you  can,"  answered  she,  and  went 
into  the  house  without  saying  anything  more,  while  Saul 
went  to  help  Job. 

Leaning  against  the  gate-post,  Jesse  thought  how  far  the 
pair  who  remained  were  from  such  regrets,  and  how  full 
they  would  fill  the  Thai.  rfe  listened  openly  to  what 
Jonathan  was  saying: 

"Now  it  is  over,  dear.     Not  so  bad,  was  it  ?" 

"They  were  all  kind  to  rne.     I  shall  never  forget  that." 

It  occurred  to  Jesse  th?.t  if  he  were  anxious  to  leave 
happiness  behind  him,  much  greater  anxiety  must  beset 
Jonathan,  who  had  taken  so  much  on  himself.  Expecting 
more  to  be  said,  he  waited,  and  the  pause  was  so  long  that 
he  looked  over  to  his  brother  and  was  surprised.  Bertha 
did  not  think  it  long  until  later;  then  she  also  looked 
up,  and  said: 

"Jonathan,  what  is  it?" 

Jonathan  turned  to  her  quickly.     "Nothing." 

"There  is.  What?"  H^  did  not  reply,  and  she  in- 
sisted further. 

"I  was  thinking  of  the  cost  of  all  this,"  he  said. 

Unperceived  by  them,  Jesso  gave  his  brother  an  applausive 

268 


MORTAL    POWERS 

look.  Jonathan  went  on,  in  a  tone  which  addressed  itself 
both  to  Jesse  and  to  Bertha. 

"I  have  everything  I  want;  but  see  what  had  to  happen 
to  give  it  to  me.  It  is  as  if  I  had  pushed  my  own  brothers 
out  of  my  way." 

"You  have  done  the  best  you  could,  and  you  will  continue 
to  do  so,"  said  Bertha.  "Happily  for  us,  there  is  no  ground 
which  that  will  not  cover." 

"By  my  soul,  that  sounds  as  if  she  might  be  a  little  stern 
with  him!"  thought  Jesse.  He  did  not  move,  but  he  got 
all  their  attention  by  his  voice.  "You  did  no  pushing. 
Each  one  of  us  goes  when  it  is  his  time — even  from  the 
Thai.  What  you  have  is  yours  by  good  rights,  and  you 
keep  no  one  out  of  it;  there  is  no  one  else  to  have  it.  You 
had  better  enjoy  it,  and  not  torment  yourself." 

The  first  astonishment  at  his  junior  disappeared  from 
Jonathan's  face,  and  a  frank  look  was  exchanged  between 
them,  after  which  he  said,  "I  thank  you,  Jesse." 

Nothing  was  added  by  Jesse,  who  continued  to  lean  on 
the  fence  and  gaze  about  him;  and  Jonathan,  although  he 
hesitated  to  say  what  more  he  had  to  say  to  Bertha,  ap- 
peared not  unwilling  to  have  him  hear  it. 

"You  did  not  think,  Bertha,  from  what  I  said  just  now, 
that  I  don't  appreciate  what  I  have  ?" 

"No." 

"You  think  you  can  be  happy  here,  don't  you?" 

"I  know  I  shall  be  happy,"  was  the  steady,  soft  reply. 

After  a  minute  Jonathan  followed  the  other  men,  but 
she  did  not  go  in.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  thoughtfully  upon 
the  sunset;  and  Jesse,  observing  her  from  under  his  lashes, 
thought  that  the  time  had  come  to  ascertain  the  chances  of 
happiness  in  the  Thai,  she  being,  as  it  seemed,  the  cus- 

269 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

todian  of  it.  Now  he  knew  less  than  ever  her  frame  of 
mind  and  what  standards  she  would  use. 

Without  loss  of  time  in  beginning,  he  asked,  with  a  gen- 
tleness which  he  did  not  feel,  "What  are  you  thinking, 
with  such  a  grave  face  ?" 

"I  too  was  thinking  of  the  cost." 

"How  hard  you  two  will  take  everything!  You  are  not 
happy  if  you  think  of  that." 

"I  am  very  happy,  and  I  am  very  grateful;  but  all  that 
has  occurred  here  is  so  plainly  before  me  to-night." 

"You  know  you  paid." 

She  did  not  notice  the  gibing  tone,  but  continued,  half  to 
herself,  "How  many  sacrifices  were  necessary  to  make 
the  meeting  to-day  what  it  was,  of  feelings,  and  of  ideals, 
and  of  wishes;  and  all  these  thwarted  people  had  been 
following  their  best  impulses,  to  follow  which  should  have 
been  virtue." 

"And  now  their  wings  are  clipped." 

"It  is,  then,  not  possible  for  us  to  be  as  good  as  we  want 
to  be?" 

"There  is  not  room.  Here  we  must  only  be  as  good  as 
is  convenient  to  our  neighbors." 

Determined  to  find  out  more  about  her,  he  tried  the  sig- 
nificant point  again.  "You  paid;  the  damage  is  repaired 
as  well  as  any  one  could  do  it.  One  item,  however,  still 
stands  against  you.  How  will  you  pay  for  me  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  sadly.  "  I  can  think  of  nothing 
that  I  can  do  for  you." 

Although  he  had  meant  to  tease  her  into  some  sort  of 
self-betrayal,  her  way  of  taking  it  gave  him  pleasure,  and 
softened  him  toward  her.  "Never  mind  me,"  he  re- 
sponded, lightly.  "I  was  an  anti-climax  when  I  was  born. 

270 


MORTAL    POWERS 

This  crowding  out  is  an  excellent  thing  for  me.  Otherwise 
I  might  have  stuck  to  our  fireside  all  my  days,  whereas  now 
I  shall  see  the  world.  Perhaps  I  shall  come  back  a  rich 
man." 

As  they  looked  at  each  other,  thoughtful  and  smiling,  he 
seemed  to  her  more  lonely  than  she  had  ever  been.  The 
mysteriousness  of  his  character  impressed  her;  she  stopped 
thinking  of  herself  to  think  of  him.  What  was  really  in  his 
heart  now,  she  wondered.  Was  it  Antony?  Since  he  did 
not  know  the  truth  about  the  beating  and  the  barn-burning 
he  could  still  keep  his  heroic  ideal;  the  omniscient  Jesse 
could  take  refuge  in  ignorance. 

He  spoke  again,  with  the  idea  of  finding  out  what  sort  of 
Heilig  she  would  make.  "For  the  last  few  months  the 
Thai  has  been  a  battle-ground  for  wills,  and  your  will  and 
father's  were  the  chief  contestants.  Now  there  is  peace, 
but  how  long  will  it  last  ?" 

"I  can't  wonder  that  you  ask  that,"  said  she,  "but  I  am 
going  to  try  hard  to  make  them,  in  time,  cease  to  be  sorry 
that  I  am  here.  I  hope  that  I  shall  be  able  to  live  here  so 
that  they  will  not  always  be  sorry." 

"Why,  a  little  while  ago  you  were  bracing  up  Jonathan!" 
he  exclaimed. 

"If  I  had  expressed  myself  first  he  would  have  done  the 
same  for  me." 

"And  now  you  speak  timidly,  like  father  and  mother. 
Are  you  afraid  ?" 

"Yes;  of  the  times  when  I  shall  disappoint  and  hurt 
them.  Perhaps  I  shall  hurt  him  and  not  know  it.  I  am 
afraid." 

He  looked  down  at  her  for  a  little,  comparing  this  wom- 
an with  the  one  who  had  taken  possession  of  his  mill. 

271 


HEARTS    CONTENDING 

Then  he  said:  "I  am  glad  you  are  here.  You  need  not  be 
afraid.  You  will  do  well." 

She  kept  her  face  raised  to  his  and  her  eyes  fixed  upon 
his  gratefully,  although  she  realized  every  second  more 
the  extent  of  the  tracts  in  his  soul  which  she  had  not  en- 
tered; and  as  she  looked  he  seemed  to  be  getting  farther 
and  farther  away  from  her. 

For  him  the  moment  was  one  of  leave-taking.  The  dis- 
appearance of  the  Bertha  he  had  known  so  engrossed  him 
that  when  the  new,  pliant  woman  left  him  alone  he  hardly 
noticed  her  going,  and  the  low,  retreating  sound  of  her 
steps  fitted  into  his  thoughts. 

From  thinking  of  her  he  passed  to  the  other  leave-takings 
which  were  before  him,  and  dwelt  upon  them  until  the 
worst  was  over,  and  he  could  go  through  the  reality  without 
much  feeling.  He  looked  at  his  own  life  and  at  the  future, 
the  bitterness,  and  the  bright  gleams.  Then  his  thoughts 
reverted. 

"Antony,  I  keep  watching  for  you  and  imagining  I  see 
you  coming,  as  if  I  were  a  woman.  Now  Jonathan  has  all 
you  wanted.  They  are  rid  of  you,  and  they  will  soon  be 
rid  of  me.  I  wonder  where  you  are  now." 

He  cast  a  long  look  over  the  Thai.  The  twilight  was 
deep,  the  sky  gray,  streaked  with  watery  yellow  where  the 
sun  had  set.  The  West  looked  far  away. 


THE    END 


A     000123648     8 


